Evergreen Loop
by Vican
Summary: The downside of high school: cafeteria food sucks, and sometimes, you're cast as the weirdo. On the bright side, sometimes Edward Cullen is your best friend. Even if it is a secret.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **22 September 2011**

I don't think anyone at this school hates Gym more than I do. Gym is embarrassing, undignified, and the kind of forced physical labour I really feel I should be compensated for.

Plus, you have to change your clothes in front of people. Honestly, it's a little barbaric at this point.

I fumble with my towel, clamping it under my chin while I get my jeans on. Grabbing my bra, I resist the urge to look over my shoulder. Rosalie and her cohorts are a few lockers down, walking around in their underwear. I need them to not be looking at me.

Holding my breath, I drop the towel and strap my boobs in.

Behind me, Jessica and Lauren are regaling Rosalie with a dramatic retelling of how Edward apparently stared at her ass in gym. When they first started talking about it, I was so shocked I actually listened to every word, but it's been ten minutes and they're still babbling, so who even cares any more?

"I can't believe him, though," Jessica sighs. "Isn't there like a guy-code against checking out your best friend's girlfriend?"

Rosalie scoffs. "They're guys. Bro-code or not, he's still going to look at it."

I roll my eyes and start yanking a brush through my hair.

"Are you going to tell Emmett?"

Rosalie makes a sound of contemplation. "Probably not. Maybe if he does it again, but…"

"He'd probably beat Edward up or something," Lauren says, the urge for it clear in her voice. "I could nurse him back to health. Time for your sponge-bath, Edward."

Urge to gag rising.

I throw my stuff together as they laugh. I can't listen to any more of this. It's only a reminder that I go to school with morons.

As I make my way to my next class, I see him farther down the hall, laughing with Emmett as they turn the corner. I probably won't tell him what they said. Would he want to know? He doesn't worry about stuff like that, people talking about him or whatever. Not like I do. And if he _were_ anything like me, he wouldn't feel better for knowing anyway.

Best not to say anything.

I wonder what he'd do if the situation were reversed.

Fuck, what if it already is?

Has he ever heard anyone talking about me? Has he wondered if he should tell me? Or have the things he's heard been so awful he didn't even consider it?

By the time I get to my locker, I have heartburn.

He's left me a text about Coach extending basketball practice by half an hour. I tell him that's fine; I'll have time to finish my paper for physics before meeting him.

I wish I could take more physics instead of Gym. Far less ass-staring in physics. Far less sweat, too.

As I weave through the crowded hall, no one looks at me. That's the only thing about crowds I can stand. I'm like a blind spot. In fact, my superhero name would probably be Blind-Spot Girl. Attention just bounces off me.

I still have a few minutes until my next class, and the sun is shining weakly. A Forkie born and bred, it's a rarity I'm socially obligated to honour by going outside. I follow the stream of students heading out the doors, and then break off, skimming the side of the building as I head for the corner. My sweater snags on the bricks every now and then.

The rest of the student body create a low droning hum of voices. There are a few picnic tables out front where they like to gather, but I prefer the south side, where the teachers lounge overlooks the teachers parking lot, making it a teacher hot-spot and the most avoided place in all of Forks High. Because teachers, amirite?

I sit down on the old bench against the wall and pull out a comic book. The sun is barely warming, and I can see the clouds ganging up. It's almost October; this might be the last time this year we get weather you could describe as 'nice.' I turn my face upwards and close my eyes.

I won't tell him what I heard. It won't do any good. And it's just harmless locker room gossip, anyway.

In fact, if I just sit here, very still, and concentrate really hard, I'll probably forget I heard it at all.

* * *

 **So, hi. Haven't done this in a while.**

 **Embarrassingly, this is a story I've been working on for almost three years now. Never say I'm a quick writer, because you would be hilariously inaccurate.**

 **However, I'm happy to say I've pretty much finished it now, so I decided I might as well start posting before I chicken out. I'll probably update once or twice a week, aaannd... yeah, I hope you guys enjoy.**

 **Kim and Meg are my favourite people, and I'd be worthless without them.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **22 September 2011**

The tree-house was built by Dr Cullen when his twins were six years old. It cuddles between two trunks, about ten feet above the ground. Shingled roof, little windows. Even a chimney. It's freaking adorable.

A year junior to the Cullen twins, I used to sit in our backyard and listen to the sound of sawing and hammering. He built it smack-dab in the middle of the stretch of woods separating our properties. Mom kept saying she'd talk to Mrs. Cullen, ask if I could play there, too, but I can't remember if she ever did.

I mean, knowing her, she definitely did, but knowing me, I'm not surprised it never happened.

I wonder what she'd think if she knew I'm doing what she wanted, only twelve years later.

Wrapping my coat closer around me, I spin slowly on my heel. Edward's late, and I'm super bored. I'd climb up into the tree house, but he has the key.

Most people might think a padlock on a tree house is overkill, but most people don't have hundreds of dollars worth of collectibles in theirs. That kind of stuff needs to be on lock down.

I'm jumping up and down to keep warm when I hear snapping twigs and shoes shuffling through leaves. Turning around, I see Edward trudging toward me. His hair is still slightly damp from showering after practice, a darker shade of brown than his normal bronze. He smiles as soon as our eyes meet.

"I made coffee," he says, pulling a thermos out of his bag as he walks.

I consider that, but then decide, "You're still late."

"Sorry. Coach was insane today."

"Oh." I consider that too. I concede. Coach really is a nutjob sometimes. "That sucks. I made cookies."

His eyes light up, impossibly happy. "What kind?"

"Just snickerdoodles."

He pumps his fist.

"Oh my god, you're such a dork."

"What? They're my favorite."

"You say that about all the cookies I make you, though."

"Well, maybe I like _all the cookies_ you make me."

"You would," I mutter, and he laughs. I swear, Edward eats more than anyone I know.

Not that that's saying a lot.

"Shall we?" I wave my hand at the ladder.

"Of course," he says, digging the key out of his pocket.

He hands me his bag, climbing up first so he can open the trapdoor. I pass the bags and the coffee up to him, and then hurry up the ladder once he's heaved himself inside.

We settle into our seats. Edward reaches over and turns on the space heater while I set out our snacks. He shoves most of an entire cookie into his mouth. I wrinkle my lip.

"Gross."

He swallows and reaches for another. "What? I'm hungry. I need the sugar." Grabbing his bag and rifling through it, he says, "I think we should take a trip into Port Angeles this weekend."

I raise an eyebrow at his subject change, but don't comment on it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Portal is going to go bankrupt unless we start buying from them more."

"We _are_ their only customers."

"Right," he laughs as he pulls out one of his _Sandman_ volumes – his favorite. "Which is why we should go."

"But we went last week," I say. Not so much as a protest, but more as a question. Portal Comics being the only comic book shop close by means we go there as often as possible, but that doesn't really mean much. With Edward's busy social life, it's sometimes difficult for him to slip away from his friends. Taking weekly trips into Port Angeles would be difficult to explain, so we usually only manage once a month.

When we do go, we take our separate cars, and we don't leave at the same time. Edward constantly complains about it, but I don't want to risk anyone seeing us. I know he doesn't either.

He shrugs at my statement, but doesn't look up.

"But… I mean, aren't you hanging out with Emmett? You're always watching some game."

He chuckles, but continues reading. "Yeah, but he's hanging out with Rosalie, and the game's not until Sunday."

Now I'm thinking about him staring at Rosalie's ass in gym. Blech.

"So, d'you wanna go?" he asks, oblivious.

"Uhm… yeah?" I take a bite of a cookie to see if that helps settle my mind at all. It doesn't. Him looking up at me with a raised eyebrow does, though. "I mean. Okay. Fine. If you want."

This is a little weird. Why is he being weird?

He smiles. "Great. I'll pick you up at nine."

I choke on my cookie. Gasping, I cover my mouth and cough, eyes watering.

"Whoa," he says, reaching his arm out. "You okay?"

I continue coughing, hoping crumbs won't come flying out of my mouth. "Wh— why are you picking me up?"

He sighs, putting his book to the side. "Because we're not going in separate cars to go to the same place. It's stupid, and environmentally unstable."

"Unsustainable," I correct him, by reflex, taking a careful sip of coffee after he gives me a deadpan face.

"We're taking my car," he says. "Together. I dunno, we'll have lunch or something. Go see a movie?"

I stare at him. "What?"

"I thought we could like… hang out." He shrugs. Again, I stare.

"But what if someone sees us?"

"So?"

"What do you mean, 'so'?" Has he lost his mind?

" _So_ … I don't care." He flips his hands out in a casual gesture.

I'm anything but casual. "Yes, you do."

He laughs. "I really don't. I don't give a shit. I'm allowed to hang out with you."

"But they'll ask questions."

"So?" he says again, openly laughing at me now. "Seriously, Bella, I don't _care_ any more. So they'll ask questions. We'll tell them we're friends. End of story."

I gape at him. "End of story? It won't be end of story. Edward Cullen doesn't hang out with Bella Swan without that causing a— a ruckus."

He snorts. "A ruckus? Oh my."

I throw my half-eaten cookie at him. "I'm serious!"

He stares at me, wide-eyed, both amused and incredulous. "What was that for?"

"I don't… I don't want a ruckus. I like not being a ruckus."

He's painfully aware of this. His expression seems to freeze for a second, only to slip away like it wasn't there at all. I can see the disappointment on his face as he looks down, picking the cookie out of his lap.

Immediately, I feel terrible. All Edward wants to do is hang out with me, in public. Like real friends do.

But I can't, because I like not being noticed. I like not having people look at me. And if we hang out in public, and someone sees us, they'll notice. They'll start talking, and they'll stare at me at school, and I don't want that. I don't know how to deal with that.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, guilt settling in my gut, squirming and heavy. "It's not that I don't _want_ to hang out. I just…" I trail off, ending with a shrug instead.

He shakes his head. "No, I know. It's fine."

We both know it isn't.

"Look, Bella," he says after a pause, choosing his words carefully. "I haven't heard of anyone making plans to go to Port Angeles this weekend, if that makes you feel better. And we'll stay away from the popular hang-outs. We'll go to lunch, go to the comic book store, and then… I don't know. We'll think of something to do."

I look up at him. He just looks back, his eyes open and honest.

This is weird.

"Why are you suddenly so okay with this?" I say. "You don't want people knowing about this stuff any more than I do." I wave my hand around, indicating our shared collection. For two years we've kept our comic books and collectibles here in the tree house — my secret haven, and his secret hideaway. Keeping it secret is one of the cornerstones of our entire friendship, and now he's going to act like it suddenly doesn't matter?

He glances off to the side for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Well, maybe I decided I don't care any more."

I narrow my eyes. "Bullshit."

"It's not! I swear to god, it's not."

"Why are you lying? Did you do something? Are you in trouble or something?"

He looks at me like I've lost my mind. " _No_."

"Then what the crap!"

"God, why are you being so difficult?" he exclaims, throwing his hands out. "I want to hang out with you in a place that isn't cold, cramped, and smelly! Is that really so hard to believe?"

I clamp my lips together. My instinctive answer is 'yes' but something tells me he won't like that.

I try to wait him out. Several seconds pass, and all he does is stare at me like he knows what I'm doing and he's not going to take my shit. I reluctantly mutter, "No."

"Okay then."

Another moment of silence passes, and still he's just staring at me. I throw up my hands.

"Fine. We'll go."

"Together. In my car," he says quickly, as if to close off all my loopholes.

I roll my eyes. "Fine."

His face immediately lights up with one of his stupidly perfect smiles. My guilt squirms uncomfortably when I wonder how believable he'd find it if I came down with a sudden case of stomach flu on Friday night.

He picks his book back up, snagging another cookie as he continues reading where he left off. I hide my nervousness until he gets too absorbed in his comic to pay attention to me. I grab a random copy and pretend to be reading too, robotically turning the page every now and then.

God, what if someone sees us? If Rosalie, Jessica, and Lauren can gossip about Edward simply for looking at her… What would they do if they saw him with me? Me, geeky loner Bella, who needs reading-glasses and wears flannel shirts basically all the time. Captain of the freaking chess club.

And him, Edward, basketball star, with the perfect hair and shoulders and tallness. The guy everyone loves.

People would think he's trying to win a bet.

The thoughts continue to swirl in my mind, round and round, until Edward's phone vibrates an hour later.

He glances at it. "Dinner," he says, sighing.

"Yeah, I should probably get back too, before Mom gets worried."

We start packing up our things. I'm reconsidering my idea to not tell him about the locker room gossip. If he knew, maybe he'd be so horrified he'd see my side of the situation and cancel our plans.

"So…" I say, pushing the last cookie towards him. "I heard something interesting today."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mmhm." I try my best to look and sound nonchalant. "In the girls' locker room."

He looks up, eyebrows raised. "Oh? Please tell me it had something to do with bras."

"What? No."

"No? Not really?"

"Jesus, no."

"Oh. That's disappointing," he says, frowning.

I shake my head, closing my eyes. "No, it— it was actually about you."

He goes completely still. "Me?"

"Yeah. Lauren, Jessica, and Rosalie were talking about you." I study his face; this doesn't garner a reaction. At least not one I can see.

"What were they saying?"

"Well, they said that during Gym, you'd been… staring."

"Staring?" He suddenly looks a little worried. Oh god, was he staring? My heart sinks. I wish I hadn't brought it up.

"Yeah. At Rosalie."

He blinks quickly. "I stared at Rosalie?"

"Apparently."

"What does that mean?"

I shrug, although I really do think he should know what it means. "They seemed to think it meant that you maybe… I don't know, that you have some kind of _interest_ in h-her."

His chin dips down as he stares at me. "Interest?"

"Yes. Interest. In Rosalie, and her, uhm, gym-shorts."

"Gym-shorts," he says, looking like he doesn't actually understand a word I'm saying.

"They think you were staring at her ass! They think you like her. _Like_ - _her_ like-her."

His forehead wrinkles and his chin squishes, mouth curling down at the ends. "I don't _like_ - _her_ like-her! I barely like her at all."

"But you were staring at her."

"No, I wasn't."

"You weren't?"

"No, of course not," he says, shuddering. "Ugh, god. Gross. Why would you tell me that? I'm going to have nightmares," he mumbles at his cookie, like an afterthought.

I suddenly want to tell Rosalie to suck it.

"Sorry." I'm not sorry.

"God, why would she think that? She's Emmett's girlfriend."

"Please. Rosalie thinks she's so hot everyone has a crush on her."

"Well, she's not." He says is flippantly, but he won't look at me when he says it, like he's embarrassed. But then, so would I be if he told me I'd been caught staring at someone's ass.

Actually, I might die.

"Okay," I say, not looking at him either in the hopes of not embarrassing him further.

We continue packing, with only the hum of the space-heater filling the quietness. When he's zipped up his bag, I can feel him looking at me. He doesn't speak until I'm done.

"So you're telling me girls never talk about bras in locker rooms?" He grins, his eyes warm as he watches me.

I snort, shaking my head. "Maybe, I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? Of course you know."

"Well, if they do, they don't talk about them with me."

I mean it as a joke, but his grin slips a little. He's always more sensitive about my lack of friends than I am. I wish I could take the words back, so he wouldn't have to feel sad.

"I _see_ a lot of bras, though," I say, hoping it'll cheer him up.

His smile brightens again, so I guess it works. "I bet you do."

I laugh with a small sigh. "Well. Anyway…"

"Yeah," he says. "We better get going. Turn off the heater?"

"Sure," I say, getting to my knees as he shuffles over and opens the door. He climbs through the hole, but pauses with his head still inside. I turn to him and raise an eyebrow. For a moment, he looks like he doesn't know whether he should speak or not. He keeps his gaze on my shoulder.

"And… just so you know – they were only half-right. I was staring, but not at Rosalie."

My eyebrow goes a little higher. I don't understand.

His lips open and close for a couple of seconds, before he takes a small breath.

"I happen to think you look very nice in your gym-shorts."

The words have barely left his mouth before he's disappearing from sight, climbing down to the ground.

I stare at the air where his face was, hearing his words over and over in my mind, but unable to fully grasp their meaning.

I look nice in my gym-shorts?

I clumsily make my way down the ladder, eyes wide open, heart beating furiously.

He's already gone by the time I put my feet on the ground.

* * *

 **You guys are amazing. Thanks so much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

 **22 September 2011**

I'm in a daze as I walk back to my house. I come in through the kitchen door, and mumble a greeting at Mom. I'm aware on some level that she follows me into the living room, but it takes me a few seconds of actually staring at her for it to click.

"You were gone a long time today, sweetie," she says, watching as I slide my backpack onto the floor. She thinks I take walks when I'm actually being a weirdo and hanging out with Edward in a tree house. She slowly frowns. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I'm good." I'm able to successfully pull off a pair of gym shorts. Apparently.

I leave her there as I go to hang up my coat and kick off my shoes by the front door, but she's waiting when I come back in the room. "How was school?"

You have to admire her persistence. Every day she asks me this. Now, though, she says it without her usual crumb of hope – hope that maybe today I've made a new friend, maybe today I've been normal. I make an effort with my facial expression. Clearly I'm legitimately worrying her.

"It was fine. Just the usual." I sit down in front of the coffee table and pull out my homework. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken," she says, and even when I smile up at her, she still watches me in this way she has. The way you stare at something that's not working the way it should, wondering what you can do to fix it.

I hate this look. My mother loves me, more than anything – I know this. But her constant search for my broken pieces got old about a decade ago. This is why I've never told her about Edward. I feel like she'd try to take ownership of it somehow.

"Cool. I need to do my homework," I say, turning away from her. As I settle down on the floor in front of the coffee table, I hear her sigh before she leaves.

I don't actually need to do my homework – I finished it before meeting Edward, and even then, I was basically just doing extra credit stuff. But the only thing that gets Mom off my back about being a friendless outcast is academia, and staying top of my class. It's been a useful tool these last few years.

I start writing out study-notes for the upcoming physics test, and it's a pretty good distraction. It's easy, but I have to focus, allowing me to sink into a mindless state of copying from my textbook and re-writing the notes I've taken in class.

Whenever my mind strays to Edward telling me I look good in gym-shorts, I shake it off and make a nice flow-chart, or diagram, or mnemonic list, because that is just way easier than wondering what the hell that means.

I mean, I'm not an idiot – theoretically, I know what it means when a guy stares at a girl. But in practice? In practice, I've never really imagined that _I_ would be that girl. Or that Edward would be that boy to my girl.

I don't think I want Edward to be that boy to my girl. Do I? I don't think I should, because we're best friends, and if I mess with that, mess with what he represents in my life, I'm going to end up with no friend at all. That would be scary.

I blink, the diagram I've been copying coming into focus. It doesn't look right. With a groan, I rip the page out of my notebook and start again.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

It's Saturday. The day I promised Edward we'd hang out like normal people, and I'd sit in his car and not be an idiot about it.

I am super ready to hang out. In public.

On a Saturday.

Outside, with people. Who have eyes.

In public.

Super-duper ready.

It's over breakfast that Mom tells me she and Dad are going to head down to the reservation, to have lunch with Billy and Sue.

"Do you want to come with us, sweetie?" she asks, looking at me with hopeful eyes over her cup of coffee. "I think Sue's boy – what's his name? I think he'll be there. You two could hang out. I know he's a few years younger than you, but I'm sure you'd have fun."

I shake my head, reaching for a box of cereal. "No, I, uhm…" Well-timed pause, hit the right level of fake nonchalance, and: "I'm actually hanging out with Angela. Today." I throw her a quick glance and then turn away to grab a bowl.

She sets her cup down. "You are?"

I think Mom would be vastly disappointed in me if she ever found out how well I've perfected the art of lying to her.

"Yeah."

She's silent for a moment, clearly absorbing the shock. She recovers as I sit down at the table. "But that's great, honey! Do you have any plans?"

"Yeah, she, uhm… Ben, from chess club, finally asked her out" – this is true, except it happened like two months ago – "and she asked if I wanted to go to Port Angeles with her. She wants to find something to wear for their date."

Mom is thrilled to bits. "That sounds nice. Oh, I'm so happy for you, honey, you're going to have a great time. Tell you what, I'll give you some money, so you can find something, too. A real girls' day out."

Dammit. Now I might actually have to go shopping. If I just come home with more comic books, she's going to kill me.

"Great. Thanks," I say, and she jumps up to go get her purse.

As luck would have it, Mom decides to go take a shower just before Edward's supposed to pick me up. I don't tell her I'm leaving, in case she decides to wait to say hi to Angela or something. I think she might notice Angela looks suspiciously like an 18-year-old boy.

Dad's watching TV in the living room, so I wait in the hall, peeking out the window every few seconds. This is so stupid. I can't believe I'm letting him pick me up. If anyone sees me in his car… God, I can't even think about that without wanting to throw up.

It's so irrational, but I can't help it. I know the only reason I didn't cancel was because it made him so happy when I agreed, but I don't think he understands exactly how uncomfortable I am right now. I'm not even in his car yet, and I'm already battling a severe case of paranoia.

Someone is going to see us, and then my carefully crafted social invisibility will go straight out the window.

The sound of a car engine rolls steadily closer. I straighten and glance outside as Edward's car starts to pull up to the curb.

"Angela's here, I'm going now! Bye, Dad!" I shout immediately, flinging open the door without waiting to see if he says anything back. Edward's barely come to a full stop before I'm hurrying down the patio steps and speed-walking across the front yard.

I see him leaning across to the passenger seat, smiling at me through the car window with a wave. When I reach him, I throw open the door, bundle inside, and slam it shut behind me with an exhale.

Edward stares at me, previous smile all gone. "Maybe don't break my car? Good morning, psycho."

"Shut up," I say. My voice is a little hissy. I stuff my bag down between my feet. "Morning. Can we go?"

"What's with the power walking? You in a hurry?" he says, nodding towards my house.

"No, I just wanna… go."

"Uh-huh."

"Start the car."

"Put your seatbelt on," he responds, a small smirk hiding on his face.

I click the hatch into place, widening my eyes at him. "Happy? Can we go?"

"Yeah, just a sec, I just need to _stretch_ …" He sweeps his arms in a wide arc, groaning loudly. Reaching both hands towards the windscreen next, he cracks his knuckles before flexing his fingers. "Gotta limber up before a long drive, you know?"

"Edward."

"I'm a very responsible driver, Bella," he tells me seriously. "I take every precaution necessary."

"Okay, and that's great, but can we please go? We can't just sit here in a parked car. It's weird."

He makes a point of looking around the completely empty street. "Oh yes, all these people are going to think we're absolute morons. Everyone will see! Whatever shall we d—"

I punch his arm. "Don't make fun of me."

"Ow," he mutters, glaring.

"I can't help it, okay? I'm a socially reclusive nerd – obviously I'm going to have some problems with this stuff."

"Obviously," he says. "But I think your problems stretch a little further than just being scared people will see you."

"You know what? If you're going to be such a butthole all day, maybe I don't want to go to The Port."

I'm mostly joking.

He laughs. Douchebag.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Mom invited me to a really thrilling lunch down in La Push. Maybe I'd rather go to that than hang out with you."

He tries to keep a straight face. "Sounds like fun."

"More fun that sitting in a parked car."

"But I'm here. I'm a delight. You can't really say that about lunch in La Push with your parents, can you?"

I groan out a laugh, letting my head fall back. "Ed _ward_. Seriously. Can we go?"

"Say please."

"No. Drive the damn car."

"Okay, geez. Why didn't you just say you wanted to leave?"

"Edward, I swear to god."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'll stop," he laughs, starting the car.

"Thanks."

"No problem." He checks all his mirrors before pulling out onto the street. "It took me two years to get you into this car. I'm not going to let you bail on me now."

"That's… kind of creepy."

"Yeah, I just heard it," he says, scrunching up his nose. "It didn't sound so kidnappy in my head."

"Few things do."

"Right." Driving down the street, he hums a tuneless melody for a moment. "So what did your Mom say when you ditched her and her lame La Push lunch?"

"She gave me money."

He glances back and forth between the road and me. "What? Why? You get paid for not doing boring shit?"

"No," I snort. "She thinks I'm going shopping. Fair warning, I might have to go shopping."

"Uhm, okay," he says, looking flummoxed. "Why?"

"Because I told her I was. With Angela."

His mouth opens and closes. "Okay. Again… why?"

"Well, I had to tell her something. I couldn't just be like, 'Hey, I'm going in to Port Angeles today' and then leave my truck at home." One of the vents in his car is aimed right at me. That's going to be annoying.

"Okay, fine, but why did you tell her you're shopping with Angela?" He pulls up at the stop-sign at the end of the street, taking a second to properly look at me. "Why not just say you're going with me?"

"Because she knows who Angela is, so it was just easier than explaining this," I say, waving my hand between us.

His eyebrows go up, and he pulls out on the main road. "This being…?"

" _This_. Us being friends," I say, shrugging. "And she already bugs me about why I don't hang out with Angela more, so I figured this would be a good two birds, one stone kind of solution."

He seems to be processing this. "Right."

I look out my window, slouching down in my seat. The roads are pretty empty, and I know that no one driving around this early is likely to recognize me in Edward's car anyway, but I don't want to help them by making my face easy to see. I should've worn a hat.

Edward picks up his phone, unlocking it before handing it to me. "Here," he says, keeping his eyes on the road. "Pick some music."

I scroll through his playlists, smiling every time I see something we have in common, or one of the bands he once told me I should listen to. The car is silent as I try to decide where to start. I glance at Edward; he looks very serious. I guess he really is a responsible driver. He's usually quite chatty, a good balance to my habit of being the opposite.

I finally pick something, and a small smile flashes across his face, but he doesn't look away from the road.

I put his phone down between us and lace my fingers together in my lap. I think of possible things I can say to get a conversation going, but now that we're in this enclosed space and I'm kind of forced to acknowledge him, my mind doesn't really want to do anything but talk about gym shorts.

Is he thinking about gym shorts? Is he wondering why he decided to tell me? Is he wondering why I haven't said anything about it yet? Maybe he's totally freaking out that I haven't said anything, which is why he's being so quiet and weird. Wouldn't I be freaking out? I'd definitely be freaking out.

Oh god, I don't have to say anything, do I?

I glance at him again, catching him just as he's looking up at his rear view mirror. He sees me looking, and throws a smile my way before turning back to the road, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

I can't. I can't say anything. It would be too awkward. If he wants to talk about it, he'll have to bring it up. He's the one who said it in the first place, so it seems only fair. Right?

Right.

I turn my face to look out the window again, watching the trees as we drive past.

Stupid gym shorts.

* * *

 **Thank you so much for reading.  
**

 **Much love to Meg and Kim, who still read my stuff even when they think I'm joking.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

 **24 September 2011**

Portal Comics is a dump.

It's tiny, it's old, it's pretty dirty, and it has a particular stench that I can't quite describe.

But there are _comic books_ here. That alone makes it worth the questionable carpet, and the windows that are so muddied up with dirt, that at this point, it almost looks intentional.

It's also the breeding ground for mine and Edward's friendship, and that's probably the real reason I like it so much. Two years ago, when I'd just moved up a grade because I was outpacing everyone so much the teachers didn't know what else to do with me, I was even more of a social outcast than before. Mom took me shopping in Port Angeles, because as we all know, that fixes everything.

I managed to shake her off in the third shoe store she'd taken me to, convincing her I'd be fine on my own. After wandering around, I came here. When I stepped inside, the only other person there besides Alistair, the shopkeeper, was Edward.

We'd been neighbours all our lives. I could sometimes see little glimpses of his house through the woods, especially during the winter, when the leaves weren't obstructing it from view. But we'd never really been friends or hung out, and not only because I was a year younger. But there he suddenly was, checking the price on an X-men T-shirt.

When he saw me, he froze, real panic clear on his face, just like it probably was on mine. We both turned away, and pretended the other wasn't there until he left a few minutes later without buying anything.

I'd figured he was just in there on a fluke, and the way he acted like nothing had happened the next day at school cemented that for me. Popular Edward didn't actually like comics, and everything was fine with the universe once more.

Except that he did like them, and when he walked in to The Port a month later, he didn't panic when he saw me. He scratched his neck and smiled, and after a moment of deliberation, he came over and asked if I'd seen a copy of a volume he wanted.

Once I got over the initial shock, and he was patient enough to wait for my debilitating shyness to pass, it was just a natural thing. The following day, he sent me a link to some comic website he'd talked about, and just like that, I had a real friend.

He showed me the tree-house where he kept all his comic stuff, and it seemed obvious that I'd bring my own things into the mix. His secret and my secret suddenly became _our_ secret, and until very recently, I thought it would continue to be that way, but then Edward decided to go all _I don't care any more_ , and here we are.

Edward holds the door open for me, making it squeak on its hinges. As I step into the place, I throw a nod towards Alistair behind the counter.

He's the only person I ever see working here, but I know he's not the owner. He's only a couple years older than Edward, and he's always wearing one of two Peninsula College hoodies. Today it's the navy blue one.

"Hey, guys," he says, looking genuinely thrilled we're here. This is not surprising, as we're probably the only customers he'll actually see all day.

"Hey," I mumble back, quickly following Edward down to the New Releases display before Al drags me into a conversation. I let that happen once – big mistake. It took 20 minutes before he stopped talking.

I come up beside Edward, who's already sweeping his eyes across the shelves. "Anything good?"

He hums, and I smile to myself, studying his face. New comics always brings out the seriousness in him.

I turn to look at the display, too, and light up at what I see on the top shelf.

"Ooh, _Deadpool_!" I say, pointing at it. It's just out of my reach, and I put a hand on his arm, almost unconsciously. It's weirdly nice. Maybe I should do this more often. "Can you get it down for me?"

He laughs, grabbing it without effort. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"At home, do you carry around one of those stepping stools?"

"Shut up," I laugh, taking the book from him. "I'm not that short. And also, this is in unfair relation to you. You're a giant."

"Is that good or bad?" He slowly moves further down the aisle, eyes carefully scanning every cover. I follow him, fingers tapping against the comic in my hands.

"Good when I need you to reach things for me. Bad when you… I don't know, hit your head."

He laughs as he passes the Best Seller display without looking at it – it never changes anyway, so we don't bother – and turns to the crate standing behind him. I walk to stand on the opposite side, and together we leaf through the comics there.

"How are your college applications going?" he says, not looking up from his browsing. I keep glancing over to watch his fingers flicking the tops of the comics.

"They're okay. I need to work on them more, but it's kind of boring."

"Right? Like I know I'm supposed to care about something that will affect my life and future so much, but somehow, I just don't."

"I think most people feel that way," I say, trying to make him feel better. I actually do care. A lot. They're still boring.

"Probably," he mumbles, shrugging as he fishes a book out, looks over the cover, and puts it back. I need to stop staring at his hands. "Talking about boring, how's your English essay?"

"Finished it. It was easy."

He look up, grimacing. "You always say that, and it's never true."

"It's not my fault you're stupid."

He's not stupid. He's anything but stupid.

"I happen to have a very busy extracurricular schedule," he says, sniffing. I fight a smile. "If I wanted to, I could finish my essays a week in advance, too. I just don't have time."

"Well, _some_ of us manage without falling behind on schoolwork. Maybe you should work a little harder to keep up."

His lips twitch. "Probably. Wanna show me how it's done?"

"What do you mean?"

The teasing leaves his face, but he still smiles at me. "Well, I've been thinking we should study together. Basketball season's picking up, and Coach keeps saying he wants to get _more serious_ ," he says, rolling his eyes. "Whatever that means. But I'm guessing the plan is to make us train more or something. I could use the help keeping up with school."

He's not the only jock to have asked me this. When I first moved up a grade, both Mike Newton and Tyler Crowley made some weak attempts at charming me into doing their homework for them. When they realized I was less than impressed, they gave up and ignored me, just like everyone else.

I don't think Edward's actually asking me to do his homework for him; he wouldn't have to, being smart enough to manage just fine on his own. So this is… weird.

"What kind of help?" I ask, trying not to look as suspicious as I feel.

He shrugs. "I dunno. Motivation, I guess. If I do my homework with you, I can't procrastinate."

I consider him for a moment. That makes sense. "So, like… study dates?"

"Yeah," he says, a broad smile breaking out on his face. "Study dates. You bring cookies, I'll give you coffee, and we'll study. It'll be great."

"Oh, I see what's going on," I say, pointing my finger at him. "You're just after my cookies."

"No. You give those to me anyway. This is completely different."

"Uh-huh."

"It is."

"Sure it is."

"I'll even let you into my house," he says. "No more damp, smelly shack ten feet up a tree."

I feel my smile slowly slip away as I frown and shift on my feet. "Your house?"

He nods, shrugging. "Yeah, or yours, if you'd prefer that. I don't care either way."

"Oh. Right." That's new. Maybe this is another part of his _I don't care any more_ thing.

His eyes cut back and forth between mine. "What?"

I shake my head. "No, nothing. I just wasn't… I mean, I've just never been to your house before." And right this second it hits me, like a gut punch, how weird that is. I've never been to his house. I've never been to his _house_.

How can you be best friends for two years without ever going to each other's houses?

"Well, I thought it would be nice with some change," he says, smiling in this earnest way he has, while my stomach continues sinking. "Also, I'd like to not have to worry about falling out of a tree while I'm trying to do my math homework."

I force on a smile. "Yeah, I guess that would… make things easier."

"Right. So what do you think?" He looks almost shy as he asks me, but slightly hopeful too. Oh god, he knows I've never been to his house. I mean, of course he knows, but he also _knows_. He realized it, same as me, but probably a long time ago. Is that what this is all about, the whole sharing a car and not caring any more if anyone sees us hanging out?

I suddenly feel sort of nervous. My chest feels uncomfortably hot, which I know means it's breaking out in red blotches, which happens when I'm embarrassed. Why am I embarrassed? The heat spreads up my neck, to my ears.

"Uhm, yeah, sounds good. It's… it's getting cold, anyway. Last winter sucked." I look down at the comics again. I can't concentrate.

Edward's quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Hey… You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," I say, throwing him a smile. I suddenly really, really want to get out of here. He frowns slightly as he looks me over. Can he tell I'm blushing? I take a step back from the crate. "I, uh, I don't think I'm going to find anything today. I'm going to go wait out by the car, okay? Take your time," I say, waving my hand around the store.

He blinks, looking confused, but I turn around and head for the door before he can say anything. My cheeks flush hotter, and my stomach swirls uncomfortably.

I zip up my jacket as I walk around the building, heading to the back alley where we parked. There's an old picnic table where the workers from the coffee shop next door spend their breaks. It's empty now, and I sit down to wait.

I feel so awful.

He's my best friend, and I've _never been to his house_. I've thought about what his room looks like sometimes, especially in the weeks after he first told me he keeps his comic book stuff in the tree-house in case one of the guys from the team came over to hang out, but I've never felt the need to see it for myself. I've never _wanted_ to suggest we hang out there.

I've never asked him to come over to mine. Whenever I've had the house to myself for an afternoon, I've never picked up the phone to text him that he can come over and watch a movie or something. Never.

How insane is that?

God, I'm so…

I lean forward, resting my face in my hands. I'm so mean, and selfish.

I picture myself in Edward's shoes earlier this week, when he was asking me to hang out today. How would I feel if I'd gone to him, laying my hesitation to the side to let him know I'd like to hang out more, only to have him react the way I did? I basically threw a tantrum at the suggestion we sit in the same car for an hour. What if he'd done that to me?

I would've died of shame. I'd think he didn't actually like me, that we weren't as close friends as I'd believed.

My face burns at the very idea.

But the worst part is that despite this awful feeling, despite knowing I'm being a bad friend… the idea of going over to his house still makes me nervous.

What's wrong with me?

I only get to sit here in silence with my misery for two minutes before Edward is walking around the corner, a bag hooked on his fingers. I straighten up, watching as he comes over. I'm so incredibly lucky he puts up with me, despite how freaking exhausting I am.

"Hey," he says, frowning slightly in concern. A gust of wind blows past, making his plastic bag crinkle. He takes a step closer and sinks onto the bench next to me. "You okay?"

I pull the sleeves of my jacket down over my hands. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He watches me closely. "You sure? Because it kind of seemed like you were freaking out."

Glancing at him quickly, I consider lying, just because it would be so much easier. "About what?"

"Coming over to my house, apparently."

I look away, which I realize too late is pretty damning. A beat of silence follows before he lets out a small grunt, like he's surprised he was right. I take a deep breath, hoping words will fall out of my mouth that will fix this entire situation.

"I didn't… I wasn't trying to freak you out or anything," he says quietly, before my mind has a chance to rescue me.

My chest compresses uncomfortably. I shake my head. "I know. And it wasn't… I don't know why I freaked out. I guess I just realized I've never been to your house before. Which is _really_ fucking weird."

"It's not that weird," he says in a barely believable tone, with a half-shoulder shrug.

"It's weird."

"All right, so it's weird," he concedes. "But why are you freaking out? Just come over to my house, and that'll literally solve the problem."

I turn my face down, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He sighs, and I can feel him looking at me, staring a hole in the side of my face. My blatantly lying, blushing red face.

"What's wrong with coming to my house? What's the problem?"

"There's no problem," I say, but he shakes his head.

"There is, though. We're… We're best friends, you know? And like we've just established, you've never been to my house. And I've never been to yours." He stops, and lets out a small snort. "I mean, we sat in the same car for the first time _ever_ today. There is a problem."

I don't like what he's implying. "And what, _I'm_ that problem?"

"I didn't say that."

"Sounded like it," I say, crossing my arms. Never mind that I was thinking this exact thing three minutes ago. "Like, what, I'm a bad friend because this stuff makes me uncomfortable?"

"I didn't say that," he repeats, frustrated. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject," I say, my own frustration building. "I'm trying to figure out what you're saying."

"I'm saying that I know attention makes you uncomfortable, but I think you're taking it a bit far. Coming over to my house to study isn't a public thing. It's not like we have to make a big announcement," he says.

"I know that!"

"So what's the _problem_?"

"It's not – I don't know! It's just, like… like, blah, you know?"

He blinks a few times. "My house is _blah_?"

"Stop it," I say. "You know what I mean."

"I honestly, really, don't."

"It's not like I don't want to go to your house, or like, hang out with you," I say, squinting against the wind, and because of how awkward this is.

"So what is it?"

I shrug. He waits for me to say something else, but it's hard to defend something when you're not even sure what it actually is. I don't know why going to his house makes me nervous, and _It just does_ is never a good argument.

The silence stretches. He leans forward, arms on his knees. His jacket creases near his shoulders and pulls across his back. He looks sad, and I really don't like that.

"Can you just…" He trails off. Bouncing the bag on his fingers, he starts over. "If I didn't have to be the only one pushing for us to hang out all the time, that'd be really nice."

I twist my fingers together, more tightly than before. "That's how you feel? Like the only one pushing?"

"I _am_ the only one pushing," he says, sitting up straight. His eyes are tired when he looks at me. "Name one time you've had to convince me to hang out with you."

A lump catches in my throat. I don't even have to think back. I know he's right.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I inexplicably feel like crying. I hate crying.

"It's all right," he says, and some of the tension falls away from his face. "Just, you know… Don't make me try so hard."

I nod.

"And maybe next time we hang out, you don't tell your mom you're shopping with Angela," he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. A smile hides there somewhere, too, but I can still see the serious note underneath. Something that might even be a little hurt.

His silence in the car earlier suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Swallowing against the lump, I shake my head. "I won't."

"Okay." He reaches up to scratch his neck. "Does, uh, does she really not know we're friends?"

It shames me now, to say it. "No."

"Oh. Why?"

I let out a humourless snort. "She's very… I know how she'd have reacted if I told her, you know?" I pause, taking a deep breath. This is going to be embarrassing. "When you and I first started hanging out, it was so… Us being friends became really important to me, and I didn't want Mom to be a part of that. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because she's always bugged me about making friends, and I knew that she'd like, take credit for it somehow. And I didn't want that. So it was easier to just never tell her."

He watches me the whole time, eyes searching my face. I clear my throat, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "So, yeah. I know it's stupid. But it's my own… thing. Me being weird." And selfish.

The hiding smile comes out, lifting the corners of his lips. "So what you're saying is, you never told your mom we're friends, because you like being friends so much?"

My snort this time is a lot less dry. I laugh, nodding. "Exactly."

"I guess that makes sense," he chuckles, glancing at me. His eyes are warm and soft, and something tickles along my ribs as they meet mine. The lump in my throat dissipates, tugging a knot between my shoulders away with it as it goes.

Another gust of wind drags by. He hesitates for a moment, and then swings his bag onto my lap. "I got this for you."

Peeking inside, I see the copy of _Deadpool_ I grabbed in the store. I completely forgot about it earlier.

He gets to his feet, hands in his back pockets. I gaze up at him, almost having to shield my eyes. The sun isn't out, not by a long shot, but the grey sky behind him is still bright. It sets his face slightly darker, and I can't clearly tell what his expression is.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, but he just shrugs. I mumble a thank you, watching as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

"You wanna get drive-thru?" He points his thumb towards the car. "I'm craving some fries."

Squinting as I smile, I give a little nod and stand to join him.

"Yeah. Sure."

* * *

 **You guys are the best. Thank you so much for still reading this silly story.  
**

 **Meg and Kim have to put up with me sending them pictures of my bleeding blisters, so I thank them for still being my friends.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

 **30 September 2011**

Mr. Jefferson stares out at the class, looking as tired as you'd expect a high school Government teacher to be in 6th period on a Friday. A bunch of teenagers are basically regressing to kindergarten-levels of immaturity here.

"Hey, guys? Can you be quiet, please?" Mr. Jefferson is looking directly at the back row. This happens every class, because basketball players with inflated egos are too cool to pay attention, obviously.

I sigh, leaning closer to my desk as I scribble notes. I hate sitting at the back with them. Assigned seating has never been my friend, and putting me next to Mike Newton proved that indisputably.

Well, almost right next to. The seat on my left was never filled, so I took it over. My old seat is now the buffer zone between me and the moron. I squeeze as close to the wall as I can, doing everything in my power to tune out the constant droning about basketball.

Sometimes I fantasize about telling them exactly where they can shove their precious basketballs, but I don't think that would end well for me. It would also seriously interfere with my need to be invisible at all times.

Mr. Jefferson has just turned back to the board when Austin Marks erupts into loud laughter. The whole class looks over their shoulders, and Mr. Jefferson's nostrils flare. Not once, but twice.

"I'm sorry, Austin, I didn't realize election law was so funny."

Austin shakes his head as the rest of the class titters. "Sorry, Mr. Jefferson," he says. Tyler pushes his shoulder, laughing.

I take a slow, deep breath and count to ten. Today is already dragging - there's really no need for Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest to extend it.

Because I have a mission today: stop being an asshole.

I've had a lot of time to think since Saturday, when Edward made me realize just how bad a friend I can be sometimes. And while I did spend the first chunk of that time berating myself for being awful, I did eventually force myself to take a step back and look at the situation objectively.

What I saw was this: I am selfish and awful and awkward. And it's a totally fixable situation. The first step? Hanging out at Edward's house without being weird.

Totally doable.

I've barely seen Edward all week, and haven't had the chance to ask him yet, but I've decided today is definitely the day. He has basketball practice after school, and I have chess club. We'll end up leaving at around the same time, and if I can just find a minute to talk to him alone, I'll be able to ask him.

Because I can do this. I _can_ not be an asshole.

A slight movement to my right makes me look over. Mike's got his phone out, and he's showing Tyler something. Before I can roll my eyes and turn away, Mike looks up, as if feeling my gaze. His expression immediately goes hard, and with raised eyebrows he mouths, "What?"

Face flushing, I look back down at my notes. Mike whispers something to the others, and they snicker quietly. My cheeks burn hotter, almost painfully so. Shit. My blind spot powers are really crapping out on me lately.

I try to ignore them for the rest of the lesson, doing my best to focus on what Mr. Jefferson is saying, but by the end of it, my notes are half-assed at best, and I'm still wondering what Mike whispered about me. I really hope this won't be the start of one of his 'Pick on a nerd' periods, because I have enough on my plate as it is.

"Right, before you all go," Mr. Jefferson says as everyone starts packing up their stuff in anticipation of the bell, "I'm just going to hand back your tests from last week. I was quite impressed by some of you, so well done."

He turns back to his desk and gathers up a thick bunch of papers. "As always, Bella scored the top marks," he comments, unnecessarily gesturing at me. Half the class throw disinterested glances over their shoulders, and the rest ignore it. "Really well done, Bella."

I bob my head awkwardly, hoping he'll understand he needs to stop.

To my right, another round of whispering prickles against my ears, followed by Mike chortling. I glance at him, and he's looking right at me, a smirk on his face pairing with arrogant eyebrows.

Mr. Jefferson walks down between the desks, handing back everyone's tests. He smiles proudly when he places mine in front of me, rapping his knuckles over the twice-circled A+ in the corner. "Perfect score. Well done."

Mike bursts out laughing over something, leaning over Tyler to give Austin a punch on the shoulder, and Mr. Jefferson sighs slowly as he walks over to their desks.

Placing their tests down one by one, he shakes his head with a rueful smile. "The good thing is that these are definitely not your worst ever scores. Although whether that's something to be proud of I'll leave up to you decide."

Mike doesn't even glance at his test before shoving it into his bag. Mr. Jefferson sighs again. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to make an effort, Newton," he says, clearly thinking this is something Mike might take to heart. "You should try to be a bit more like Bella," he adds, once again unnecessarily gesturing to me with a proud smile.

Mike snorts, pushing back from the desk. "Yeah, definitely no thanks on that one," he says. A few of our classmates snicker, and my face burns sickeningly hot.

The bell rings, and Mike stands, swinging his bag onto his shoulder. He throws me one last smirk before leading the flood of people heading for the door, with Austin clapping him on the shoulder. Mr. Jefferson stares after them with a baffled expression.

I grab my things with slightly shaking hands, pointedly not looking at anyone. "Have a good weekend," I mumble to Mr. Jefferson as I hurry past, letting my hair swing forward to hide my burning cheeks.

I go to my locker, dumping everything inside before I duck into the bathroom. Locking myself in one of the stalls, I sit down on the closed toilet lid and check my watch. I can stay here for five minutes, let the hallways clear out as everyone rushes home. Then I'll have just enough time to get to the classroom on the other side of the building where we meet for chess club.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees with a deep sigh. Seriously crappy blind spot powers today. Fucking Mike Newton.

I push the five minutes as thin as I can, listening as the bustle in the hall steadily quiets. I finally force myself to slip out, but not before taking another minute to wash my hands and run my fingers through my hair to get a knot out.

I'm relieved to find the hallway empty, and I go back to my locker to grab my bag and chess set. I check my phone, chewing my lip as I deliberate whether to text Edward. I could ask him over text if we can hang out.

I shut my locker and head down the hallway. I don't know if I should text him now, or after the meeting. What would be best? I bring up our messages and stare at the keyboard. Texting's fine, right? I wanted to ask him in person, but maybe banking on seeing him in between when practice ends and he goes home is being a bit optimistic.

As I approach the corner, someone comes hurtling round it and smacks right into me. I yelp and drop my phone as the force propels me backwards and a shoulder catches me on the chin. I hear an "Oof!" next to my ear. Hands clamp down around my waist, and as the person stumbles forward, I catch sight of familiar auburn hair inches from my face.

Oh god.

We stagger backwards, the momentum bringing him too close. All I can imagine is falling and splitting my head open. Blood and brain matter everywhere.

But then Edward plants his foot, and with a jolt, we go from teetering on the edge to standing steady, his leg in between mine and a firm arm around my back. Breath caught in my throat, I stare wildly, clutching his shirt.

Laughter immediately erupts behind him.

Fumbling, I step back, pulling away from his hands. His eyes are wide as they meet mine.

"Dude, nice one!" Emmett says. I glance over at the group of guys standing behind him, all laughing.

Of course Mike Newton would be one of them. Of course Tyler and Austin would be there, too. Of course it's practically the whole freaking basketball team.

Well. Today kind of sucks.

"Sorry, I—" I croak out, purposefully not looking at either him or his teammates. My chin throbs dully. Christ, I could've bitten my tongue off.

"No, god, that was my fault," Edward says. "I shouldn't have been running. Are you okay?"

"Dude, did you see that?" Mike crows, and I clench my jaw.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, bending down to grab my phone. Shit, please be okay.

Edward's eyes widen. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. Is your phone okay? Guys, would you shut up?" he snaps, glaring over his shoulder.

I turn it on - it seems fine. The screen's not broken, thank god. "Yeah, it's fine. Thanks," I mumble, glancing at him with a strained smile. Mike's still laughing to himself, and I've immediately had just about enough of his dumb face for today.

I swallow, edging around Edward. Now that he's here, I don't really want to go; we've seen so little of each other this week. But I can't talk to him in front of his friends, and when his eyes meet mine for a split second, I know he understands.

"I, uhm, sorry. Again. I wasn't— I didn't see where I was going," I mutter, and it's so hard to treat him so politely, so not like I normally would.

Before he can say anything else, I walk away, tucking my phone away in my bag. Guess I'll be texting him after the meeting.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

Chess club is excruciating. Ben and Eric won't stop arguing about whose car we should take to a tournament in Port Townsend in two weeks, Angela's ignoring them and doing her homework, and Garrett's reading _War and Peace_ in Russian, for fun. I'm just sitting here, not texting Edward.

"But your car smells like Cheetos!" Ben yells, for the fifth time. I rub my temples. This is going well.

At the end of the meeting, all we've accomplished is putting the car-issue to a vote where Ben wins, leading to Eric sulking gracelessly. While everyone starts putting their stuff away, I suck it up and grab my phone. I keep it nice and short:

 **Meet at my locker?**

I don't expect a reply, and put it away again.

"See you guys later," I say as we all file out of the room.

Angela hooks her thumb over her shoulder, where the guys are already heading for the front doors. "Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah, I just have to grab some stuff from my locker."

"Oh, okay." She hesitates, looking as if she's going to say something else, but then just smiles, and gives me a nod. "Okay, well… Have a nice weekend."

"Yeah, you too," I say, feeling torn as she waves and walks after the guys; she hurries up to Ben and takes his hand, leaning into his side a little. It's probably not the best sign that none of them offered to wait for me. I would've told them not to, of course, but still.

I know it's partly my fault. I'm not the best at encouraging friendship, and I've learned never to expect people to offer it when they get nothing in return.

But still.

I hate when Mom's right.

Shaking it all off as best I can, I head back towards my locker. Rounding the corner - cautiously - I'm not expecting Edward to already be there, so the sight of him leaning against it makes my stomach jump in surprise. His hair is still damp from showering, and his gym bag lies in a heap on the floor. I feel myself smiling genuinely for the first time today.

He looks up when I get close, and the way he smiles back at me makes my lungs feel funny, like they're filled with feathers, tickling soft.

"Hey," he says, straightening up and tucking his phone back in his pocket

"Hi," I say. "Did you get out of practice early or something?"

"Yeah, apparently Coach's dog-sitter had to bail on him, so he had to cut things short."

Coach has a corgi named Henning; they take a walk around town every day, and the dog legit has a little bow tie on his collar. It's hilarious.

"Oh, cool," I say, opening my locker so I can grab my things.

"Yeah. So why am I meeting you here, exactly?"

My stomach jumps again. I've rehearsed this moment so many times during the week, but I can't remember anything I settled on now.

I look up at him. With his hair slightly darker, the green in his eyes stands out more than usual. He leans against the locker next to mine, and he seems very tall, all of a sudden.

"I, uh… Well, I wanted to see if— if, you know, if maybe you wanted to hang out. Today." I grope blindly inside my locker. I'm fucking this up. I was supposed to be all cool and relaxed. "At, uh, at your… house?"

He slowly breaks out in a wide grin. "You wanna come over to my house?"

"If that's all right," I say, finally grabbing the notebook I was looking for. "If you're not busy."

"I'm not busy, and that's more than all right," he says. "Mom went grocery shopping at that new store in Port Angeles yesterday, so we have so much food. She got these insane bagels, you have to try them."

"Not really the reason I wanted to come over, but okay."

He's still smiling. "Okay."

"Okay." I wait for something more to happen, but he just… keeps smiling. Several seconds pass. Still smiling. "I'm so confused right now."

"What? I'm just excited about the bagels. Got all your stuff?" He leans forward, peeking inside my locker.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Great. Let's go." He pushes off the lockers and heaves his gym bag over his shoulder. I open my mouth, ready to stop him, to tell him we need to wait a few more minutes, because there's no way the whole basketball team have left yet, and the guys from chess club are probably still there, and what if they see us?

But he stops and turns back to wait for me, still smiling, still so excited, and the words slowly dissolve into nothing. I close my mouth and smile back, instead. This is where I don't freak out.

This is where I don't act like an asshole.

I fall into step beside him, taking a deep breath to prepare for what I'm about to do next. "I, uh, I'm going to stop by my house first, to drop off my stuff."

"Okay," he says, seriously still smiling. I find this cuter than I probably should.

"And to, uh, tell Mom where I'm going." I glance at him, pressing my lips together as I wait for his reaction.

Impossibly, his smile gets even wider, his eyes squinting happily. He watches me for a few seconds, shaking his head. He totally gets it. "Where is this coming from?"

I shrug. "Nowhere. I've just been thinking a lot this week—"

"You should try that more often."

"Shut up. I've been thinking a lot this week, and everything we talked about on Saturday made a lot of sense. And it just… I know this is important. To you. So now it's important to me too, and if we can not make a big deal about it, that would be great." Fuck, I'm blushing. Ignore it, he can't tell.

He gets a slight strut in his step. "All right. I can do that."

"Good. Thanks."

He bumps my shoulder with his own, that barely contained grin still on his face. I'm tempted to tell him he's ridiculous, but I can't deny it makes me happy to see him so happy. The feathers make another swirl through my chest, and I take a slow, deep breath.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he says, when we turn the last corner before the doors. "When I bumped into you."

"I think you mean crashed."

"I didn't hurt you, right?" he asks, ignoring me. Giving me a critical once-over, he points at my jaw. "Felt like I got some of that with my shoulder."

I shake my head, touching the skin lightly. "No, I'm all right. I mean, you cracked a few of my ribs, but I've had worse."

"Ha-ha." He rolls his eyes, and reaches for the door. Stepping through, he holds it open for me. I cast a quick glance across the parking lot; it's magically empty. "I'm being serious."

"I know."

He grumbles something I can't hear, and ambles down the steps ahead of me.

His car is closest to the entrance - I always park my truck as far away as I can. When we reach his, he stops, jingling his keys in his palm. "So…"

"I was thinking that we could go to my house, first." I say it quickly, because otherwise I'm going to chicken out. "D'you wanna just… I'll leave my truck and everything, and then we can head over to yours."

The sun breaks out between the clouds for a moment, and he grins in a lopsided kind of way, one eye shut against the brightness. "Okay."

"Okay." I nod awkwardly. "So, uhm… Right. I'll just…" I point to my truck. "And, uh… Okay."

I don't wait for him to tease me, and instead turn on my heel and head over to my truck. None of this is going how I rehearsed it. But Edward seems happy, which really was the whole point, so maybe me making an ass of myself isn't the worst thing.

I glance back at him once I've climbed into my seat, and he's _still_ just smiling. He gives me a little wave and gets into his car, idling as he waits for me to drive out first.

Definitely not the worst thing.

* * *

 **As always, thank you so much for reading.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **30 September 2011**

I park my truck in the driveway, watching with a sense of trepidation as Edward's Volvo slides into place behind me. I know this was my idea and everything, but I've spent the drive home trying to figure out how to introduce him to Mom, and all I have to show for it is a basic plan that starts with not doing it, and ends with running away.

I jump down from my truck, and wait while Edward gets out of his car.

"I have no idea how Mom is going to react to this, and I'd like to apologize in advance for anything she might say or do," I warn as he walks up.

"Do you really think it'll be that bad?"

"Honestly? I don't know. This hasn't happened before, so who knows what she'll do."

"Right." He glances up at the house, seeming a lot less sure of himself.

With a fortifying breath, I take the lead. Edward follows me up the muddy path and up the porch that needs a fresh coat of paint, which Dad has said he'll 'get to' for two years now. The door's unlocked, so Mom's definitely home already.

"Hello?" I call out, taking a quick peek into the living room; it's messy, but not _messy_ -messy, so it can passably pose as cluttered. Edward looks around with interested eyes.

"Bella? Is that you?" Mom's voice comes from the kitchen.

"Yeah. Hi, Mom," I call out, heading towards her. I barely make it three feet before she appears in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Oh, good, I need your help wi— Oh." She stops in her tracks as Edward comes into view. The sudden appearance of another teenager in her house seems to have shocked her. She stares at him with wide eyes.

"Uhm. I'm not staying," I say. Her wide eyes move to me. "I'm just dropping off my… stuff." I drop my bag by the foot of the stairs, as if to demonstrate, and then gesture over my shoulder. "We're, uh, we're gonna head to Edward's house."

"Hi, Mrs. Swan," he pipes up, with perfect timing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him waving.

She blinks, eyebrows dangerously close to her hairline. "Oh, hi. Edward. How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Stepping forward before this dissolves into an actual conversation, I discreetly flap my hand at him to shut up. "I'll be home before dinner, okay?"

"Oh. Okay." Her gaze flits back and forth between us. "I didn't realize you two were friends," she says, giving me a look fully loaded with meaning. I think she might be expecting a five-page essay as an explanation.

Not really being up for that, I find myself shrugging. I literally have no idea what else to do. Something tells me ' _I've secretly hung out in a tree-house with him several days a week for years, and I never told you on purpose,_ ' wouldn't do much to help the situation.

She looks back and forth between us again, eyes slowly narrowing in suspicion.

"What did you need my help with?" I ask, hoping to distract her.

It takes her a few seconds to respond; she stares at me blankly before her mouth pops open in understanding.

"Oh, it wasn't anything important, honey. It can wait until you get back home."

"You sure?" I ask, even as I take a step back towards the door.

She waves us away. "Of course. You two go."

"Okay then," I say, taking another step. Edward follows my lead, reaching the door before I do. "See you later."

"Bye, honey. Nice to see you, Edward. Say hi to your parents for me."

He glances back, already out on the porch. "I will. Nice to see you too, Mrs. Swan."

She opens her mouth to say something back, so I hurry to intercept her.

"Okay, thanks, bye," I say quickly, waving as I close the door. It shuts with its usual bang, and I breath a sigh of immense relief.

That went so much better than expected. I'm pretty sure I'll be under heavy investigation once I get back home, but I can deal with that.

I think.

I'll also have to dodge what I'm sure will be ceaseless requests to have Edward come over, but again, I can probably deal with that.

Hopefully.

"Your mom's nice," Edward observes as we walk back down the path towards his car.

"Yeah? Got a nice impression of her during those ten seconds, did you?"

He gives me a little shove. I'm amazed I don't trip over my own feet and faceplant right in front of him.

"Are you saying your mom's _not_ nice?"

"No, not at all." I walk around to the passenger side, and speak to him over the roof of his car. "Mom's plenty nice, and I'm sure she'll be very enthusiastic about showing you that."

I settle into his car, and he slowly follows, watching as I put my seatbelt on.

"Why will she be enthusiastic?"

"Well, now that she's seen you, she's probably going to do everything in her power to make sure you come over to our house as often as possible."

He still seems confused.

"I just told her I have a friend," I explain, waving a hand at my house. "She's probably inside, like, dancing around the kitchen. Calling Dad to tell him the amazing news."

Edward squints back at the house, as if he's going to see my mother shimmying past a window or something.

"Oh. Well, uh… I mean, we can go to your house next time."

"Are you that eager to get to know my mom?" I smirk slightly.

He rolls his eyes with good humour and starts the car. "No, but it wouldn't hurt if she liked me, right?"

"Right," I say as we back out of the driveway. "But I'm pretty sure Mom already loves you, just for making me less of a recluse, so you probably don't have to worry too much about that."

He nods thoughtfully. "Isn't that a type of spider?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"A recluse. A brown recluse. Or something." He looks from me to the road and back again. "No?"

"I mean, yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I was just making a comment."

"You're weird," I decide.

"I know, but you still like me, right?" he asks, throwing me a grin I'm not prepared for.

My chest seems to cave inwards for a second, as if my body is pulling itself closer to my heart. The feeling releases as quickly as it appeared, but the shock of it lingers.

"I guess," I say, thankfully not sounding as shaken as I feel. I need to change the subject. "So what do you want to do today?"

"Oh. I don't know. Did you have anything in mind?"

"Not really." I slip my fingers under my thighs, glancing out the window as we come up to the end of my street; he turns right. "Do you have any homework? I could motivate you, or whatever it was you said."

"Yeah, sure," he says, nodding. He makes another right turn, into his own street now. "I could probably do some math or something."

"Ah, yes, the noble science of 'math or something.'"

"You know me, I'm all about the noble sciences."

I laugh quietly, chancing a look at him. He's smiling to himself, as if pleased he made me laugh. Edward is always handsome, but smiling really does do extraordinary things to his face. The feathers I had in my lungs before make a small detour to my stomach, and I have to turn my head away to stop myself from staring at him.

"Here we are," Edward says, slowing the car down and turning up onto a driveway.

We're only one street over, but his part of the neighborhood is nicer than mine. Most of the homes here were built less than 15 years ago. The house we're in front of now is one of the newer ones. Almost the biggest on the street.

Edward reaches back behind my seat to grab his bag before stepping out of the car. I follow him, and we walk through the perfectly manicured garden. I glance over my shoulder only once, just to see if there's anyone looking at us. The street is silent and empty.

"So, you hungry?" he asks as we step inside. "I need something to eat, and I wasn't kidding about those bagels." He slaps his stomach a few times, rubbing a circle.

He has a very… flat stomach.

Oh _god_ , stop noticing that.

"Yeah, sure," I say, tearing my eyes away to take in the entry. It's a bright, airy room, with an impressive staircase that wraps around as it ascends, open all the way to the ceiling on the top floor, and the skylight above. It makes my own paint-flakey porch and squeaky doors seem even more depressing.

I watch as Edward neatly stacks his shoes, laces tucked inside, on a low rack by the door. All the shoes there are neatly stacked with their laces tucked inside. I feel bad about having to place mine on the floor. I try to make them look as straight as possible.

"Come on, kitchen's this way," he says, dropping his bag at the foot of the stairs.

His house is just as immaculate as the garden, but it feels warm. As if every perfectly placed decorative touch has been done with love. Even the random knick-knacks seem carefully chosen. I wonder if his mom did all this.

There's a faint, muted sound coming from somewhere, like music. I look up at the ceiling. It's a little louder in the kitchen.

Edward sees my expression, and points upwards. "That would be Alice. Her room's just above here. She likes playing music a few levels over 'way too fucking loud.'"

I feel my eyes widen. I didn't even think about this possibility. "Alice is home?"

His brow creases and he looks at me, half pleading. "Don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out." Much. I've had about zero interactions with his twin sister - just like Edward, she fits in anywhere she wants to be, with any group of people. It's very intimidating. "I just didn't… I didn't really think about it. Her being home, I mean." I self-consciously scratch my neck. "Do you think me suddenly being here will seem weird to her?"

He does a strange half-shruggy thing, as if shifting a backpack he's not wearing. "No."

"Because she's so used to you bringing home girls you've seemingly never spoken to before?" Even as the words come out of my mouth, they annoy me. _I_ annoy me, for saying them in the first place.

"No, not— I mean, no, because I don't do that, and no, because Alice doesn't care if we're friends. She… I mean, she kinda knows already anyway. So…" he trails off, not looking at me. The slight guilt on his face tugs at me.

"You told her?" I ask, and his gaze darts up to me and immediately away again. I raise my eyebrows. "When?"

He looks uncomfortable. "Uhm, a while ago. She figured out I wasn't actually hanging with Em all the time, and she kept bugging me until I told her I was actually hanging out with you."

I don't really know how I feel about that, which is weird. I'm fully expecting a wave of nerves so acute I might throw up, or a completely irrational blaze of anger. But I get neither, and the lack of them confuses me, more than anything.

In fact, I might be feeling a twinge of something suspiciously close to pleased.

"Oh," I say, watching Edward watching me. He slowly grows as confused as I feel.

Brow furrowing, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "That's it? 'Oh'?"

Floundering slightly, I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's not… I mean, she's your sister. I get why you'd tell her." To my surprise, the words ring true as I say them.

His eyebrows jump now. "Just… just like that?"

I wrap my arms around myself and grimace slightly. "I know, it's weird, right? Am I having a normal reaction to something?"

"Hmm." He walks over and places the back of his hand against my forehead. "Maybe. You don't feel hot, so we can't brush it off as a fever dream."

I poke my finger against his ribs with a snort. "Shut up. I'm being serious."

"About having a normal reaction to finding out someone knows you're my friend? Yeah, this is a serious conversation that warrants a serious response," he says, eyebrows raised condescendingly.

"Listen, I said shut up. So shut up." I poke his ribs a few more times, for good measure, and he dances away with chuckle.

"All right, fine. Serious. Yes, you're having a normal reaction. How does it feel?"

"Weird. Definitely weird."

"Hopefully you'll get used to it."

"Maybe."

"Trust me, you're probably a natural under all…" He trails off and waves a hand in the general direction of my torso, "this. It's just been hiding all these years, and it's finally ready to come out. Like a butterfly from a cocoon."

I silently stare at him for a moment. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Trying to hide my grin, I roll my eyes and walk over to their kitchen island; taking a seat on one of the bar stools, I say, "Weren't you hungry? I thought we were going to eat."

"Yes. Right." He turns away and opens a tall cupboard. I blink a few times at the sheer amount of food inside. "Anything in particular?"

"Uhm… I don't know."

"Yeah, me neither," he says. He then practically sticks his whole head inside and rummages around. He comes out with his arms full. I watch as he puts it all down on the island. Pringles, bagels - the infamous bagels, I'm assuming - Twizzlers, and Doritos seem to be the main ingredients.

"You're gonna eat all of this?"

"Well, I thought you'd help out, but yeah."

"Aren't you eating dinner?"

He stares at me as if I'm crazy. "Of course I am."

With a frown, I consider him for a moment. "Is this a guy thing? Is this one of those things I shouldn't even try to understand?"

"What, eating?" He takes out some plates and glasses.

"Excessive eating."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy, all right?" He points at me, mock-serious. "It's my job to eat my parents out of the house."

"Well, you're off to a good start."

"Damn straight," he says, grabbing a handful of Doritos and shoving them into his face.

A laugh bursts out of me, and he grins with his cheeks puffing out.

"You look like a chipmunk."

He rolls his eyes and walks over to the fridge. He holds up two cans of Coke, still chewing. I nod, and he grabs some more stuff from the fridge before sitting down beside me.

Though Edward has no qualms about spoiling his appetite for dinner, I proceed with a bit more caution. As our conversation shifts to discussing the new Spiderman movie, I chew on a Twizzler and nurse a pile of chips after Edward insists I try one of the bagels. He's right, they are delicious.

"I just can't get on board with _Peter Parker_ , the like, most American character in the history of the world, being played by some pasty English dude. I just can't. It's wrong," Edward says, pointing half a bagel at me. "Toby Maguire, fine – not the best choice, maybe, but at least it was better than this Garfield guy."

"I don't know," I say, wiping salt from my fingers. "I think he looks good. And he's hotter than Maguire."

He looks taken aback, the bagel drooping in his hand.

"You think he's hot?"

I shrug, pulling on the sleeves of my hoodie. I realize I don't really want to talk to him about finding guys hot.

He frowns, suddenly seeming a little less confident.

"I mean, do you— So, what, you think tall, skinny guys with too much hair are hot?"

"No, I'm just saying, he's better-looking than Maguire."

"But you do think he's hot?"

He's staring at me so intently I can't help but laugh at him.

"I don't know, a little, yeah. I mean, he's not unattractive." I take a sip of my soda, studying him for a moment. "Why do you care?"

He looks uncomfortable. A squirm of his legs is a further tell.

"I don't. I mean, I do, because it— I mean, the choice of who should play Spiderman shouldn't be based on how hot he is."

"I never said it should," I say, chuckling.

"But you think the English guy is better suited to play him, because he's hotter than Maguire?"

"What? No," I say, laughing louder now.

"But you said: 'He looks pretty good. And he's hotter than Maguire.' That suggests you think hotness is a necessary requirement for Spiderman."

"No, it doesn't. It was just an afterthought. I mean, Peter Parker shouldn't be _ugly_ – he isn't in the comic books. So Garfield works because he has that… hot-geek aspect about him."

He seems disgruntled with my opinion.

"So, hot geeks do it for you? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, I didn't say that."

"Okay, so let's go other end of the spectrum, then. What about Thor?"

I shake my head. "No way is that other end of the spectrum. It's not a fair comparison. Thor is a god, from another planet. He's literally an alien deity. You can't compare him to Spiderman, who's just a normal human guy."

He holds up a finger. "With radioactive spider powers."

"Yeah, but at least those are man-made. He wasn't born with them, like Thor."

"Okay, fine." He takes a Twizzler, holding it up for me to see. "You want a spectrum? Here's a spectrum. Spiderman, versus…" he grabs a bagel, "Captain America. Both start off as human losers, who gain man-made powers later in life. Who wins? Not in a fight, but in a beauty pageant."

"Oh my god."

"Answer the question."

"I don't know. Spiderman? Spiderman. Peter Parker," I say, throwing my hands up a bit.

"Aha!" he says, pointing the twizzler at me. "So you do think Spiderman needs to be hot."

"No, I don't!"

"Sure, sure. That's why you choose the gangly nerd over the super-solider."

"Listen, Captain America's… I mean, he's all right. But he's— I mean, he's _too_ … he's too bulky," I say, stumbling over my words. "It's too… too, like, you know…" I drop my voice into a lower register, "'Hey, look at me, I go to the gym every day! Fuck yeah!'"

He bursts out laughing, which is exactly what I hoped. I grin at him, tucking some hair behind my ear.

"You sound like Emmett," he says, as his laughter fades to a chuckle. He drops Spiderman and Steve on the counter.

"Well, Emmett's a perfect example," I say. "He's too much."

His laughter stays in his thoughtful smile as he studies me closely. "I thought girls were supposed to love huge muscles."

I wrinkle my nose as I smile.

"Do you even like muscles at all?"

I try to hold in the laughter, but I can't. I rub my hand over my forehead. I feel self-conscious answering these questions, but also somehow pleased that he's asking.

"I do. Just not…"

"Bulky ones," he says, finishing for me.

"Right," I say, smiling at him. He grins back, and there's that feeling again, like my chest is caving in and everything's squeezing closer.

"So not big and bulky," he says. "And how did you feel about tall and skinny with too much hair?"

I can't bring myself to be anything but completely honest. I can barely think.

"I like tall." He's tall. "And I like nice hair." He has nice hair. Loads of it. "Skinny's okay, but not my preference." Because he's not skinny now, but he used to be.

His brows pull down the smallest increment.

"I like how you look."

The words tumble out of my mouth, and I immediately want to barf.

He freezes, brow smoothing out, eyes widening. I want to barf even more.

Oh god, why did I say that?

"So I guess it's good you don't look like Captain America," I say quickly, trying to play it cool. But I don't know the first thing about being cool, so it probably doesn't work, and now he thinks I'm a spaz. "I don't think I could be friends with you if you did."

"Well… damn," he says, letting out a quick chuckle that doesn't sound exactly right. "There goes my Halloween costume."

"Just as well," I say. "I'm not a fan of blond guys. Not a good look."

"Ouch."

I startle so badly I shriek. Whipping around, I meet the eyes of Alice Cullen, casually leaning against the door jamb. Alice Cullen, who's dating Jasper Whitlock, who is very blond. Oh god.

"Geez, Alice," Edward exhales roughly, closing his eyes for a second. "Make a noise, would you?"

Her gaze is quick and knowing, and she looks between the two of us. "Sorry. Not my fault you weren't paying attention." She smiles at me. "Hey. Bella, right?"

"Yeah."

Her smile widens. She keeps eye-contact a second longer before turning to her brother.

"Mom called. She and Dad are having a date night in Port Angeles; they won't be home 'til late. Dinner's on us, so I'm ordering pizza," she says. "Jasper's coming over in about an hour. We're watching a movie later."

She looks between the two of us again, her lips twitching as if she's fighting a smile. Keeping her eyes on Edward, she says, "Bella, why don't you stay for dinner?" Only on the last word does she look at me. I freeze.

What?

"Oh, uhm, I—" I can't stay for dinner. I can't. I can't eat pizza with Alice Cullen and Jasper Whitlock.

"It'll be fun," she says, interrupting me, which is okay because I wasn't actually making sense anyway. "I've been wanting to get to know you better for a while, anyway. Edward talks about you all the time."

He immediately makes a sound of protest. I feel like I've missed a step going down the stairs.

Edward talks about me? All the time?

He talks about me.

All the time.

I've barely processed these words before Alice grins at her brother. "Okay, great, see you later!" she shouts over her shoulder as she sprints away. I hear her feet thumping up the stairs above our heads.

I turn and look at Edward. His face is slowly turning a deep shade of pink.

"I can't stay for pizza," I say, because that is an easier subject than Edward talking about me, _all the time._

"You could," he says, his shrug almost convincingly casual. Still blushing, he jumps up from his chair and starts grabbing our snacks. "Jasper's a good guy. I think you'd like him."

"That's not the point," I say, because he knows that's not the point. "I mean, your sister knowing is one thing, but Jasper's a different story."

He doesn't answer, taking unnecessary care in putting everything back in its place in the pantry. I can only see the back of his neck, but somehow I know he's blushing again.

"Edward."

"Hmm?" He shifts uncomfortably.

"Oh, my god." I jump off my chair and stride across the kitchen. Taking his elbow, I make him turn to face me. "You told Jasper, too?"

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't. Well, I mean, I guess I did, like, indirectly," he says, his volume dropping into a mumble the harder I stare at him. "I didn't even know he knew! I only found out like a month ago."

I keep staring at him, waiting. Reluctantly, he mutters, "Alice told him."

"What? Why?"

"Because. I don't know, because they're dating, and they tell each other stuff. And before Alice made me tell her, she'd been asking Jasper about why I was hanging out with Em so much, and I guess he got curious, too. She basically told him so he wouldn't say anything to Em."

I make a low keening noise and pace away. A lot of people suddenly seem to know a lot about something I thought was a secret. I could've done with a bit more of a gradual increase.

After a moment, Edward says, "But I guess, since he already knows, there's no harm in staying." His expression is the picture of innocence.

I grit my teeth. "Guess so."

He nods wisely, but as he turns away, I can see him fighting a smile. "Okay, cool. Come on, let's play video games or something."

I flounder slightly at the abrupt change of subject. "I thought we were doing homework?"

"No one does homework on Fridays," he says, already walking out of the kitchen.

I follow him towards their living room. "So why did you say we would?"

"I don't know, seemed like a good idea at the time," he says. "It got you here, didn't it?" Smirking, he drops down on the couch, and everything about the way he looks right now makes my stomach warm.

"You say that like you had anything to do with it," I reply, but I sit down next to him anyway.

"Oh, I think we both know I had everything to do with it," he says, smirking even wider as he picks up the remote.

I wish I could argue, but with a flutter in my stomach, I realize I can't.

I really can't.

Blinking rapidly, I keep my eyes on the screen and away from his face.

This isn't actually happening, is it?

I don't—… I don't, right? I can't.

He gets up from the couch only to crouch down in front of the game console, fiddling around with a disk. I catch sight of a tiny sliver of skin above his jeans, where his shirt rides up.

Oh god.

It _is_ happening.

… I am so screwed.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and this silly little pair.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 **30 September 2011**

"I can't believe you've never played Mario Kart."

"Mom wouldn't let me have video games. I couldn't even watch _The Simpsons_ until I was 13." I shift the controller in my hand. This is going to be embarrassing.

His mouth drops open. "You couldn't watch _The Simpsons_? Why?"

"I don't know, something about violence, and adult material?"

He splutters.

"I know, right? Anyway," I say, gesturing at the screen, "let's do this thing."

"I'm sorry, I'm going to need a minute. I'm weeping for all the lost moments of your childhood." Still, he quickly flips through the menu, setting up the game as he speaks.

"Shut up. I still watched it. She just didn't know I did."

"Oh, rebel," he says, grinning. "Okay, you're this guy, I'm that one. You drive with this," he says, pointing quickly at my controller, "and the aim is to win. You ready?"

"No. That was the worst description ever."

"You'll get the hang of it. Okay, let's go."

"What? No! I don't know what I'm doing," I say, and then quickly curse when the game suddenly starts. I narrowly avoid crashing into Edward's guy. I think. "You're such a cheater!"

"How am I a cheater?"

"You're deliberately not explaining the game so I can't win. Shit, shit, shit. How do I brake?"

"Why do you want to brake? And I've done no such thing. That accusation is resented."

"Look at your face. Look at your smug little face right now. You know exactly what I'm talking about. Edward! Fuck, how do I— Stop spinning!"

He keeps laughing at me all the way through the race. He finishes his laps way before I do.

I glare at the screen. Mario Kart is stupid.

"See? It's easy. Let's go again."

"No, not until you show me how you actually play this thing. I don't get it."

He rolls his eyes, and I think he's going to tease me more, but instead he scoots closer across the couch. My stomach tightens, and then his thigh brushes against my bent knee. I can't breathe.

"Okay, let me just switch to single player mode…" he mumbles. I try to listen as he explains the game, something about mushrooms and battles, but I'm stuck staring at his profile, at the way his lips move when he speaks, the tiny, pale scar on the side of his chin, and the tracks through his hair where he's pulled his fingers along the side of his head. He takes my controller and points out buttons and whatever, and I try harder to actually listen.

This is so confusing.

My gut and my mind are tugging me in two different directions, both trying to shout over the other. My gut tells me I'm careening uncontrollably towards my first ever crush, and my mind is telling me I'm being a massive idiot to even think that's possible. The only thing they seem to agree on is that _if_ this is a crush, that would be incredibly stupid.

He's my best friend. I refuse to lose that, but I don't know if I can act normal around him if I'm suddenly under the influence of freaking feelings.

He makes me do a test-lap on my own, and this time I do all right, surprisingly. He still doesn't move though, and I'm not used to this kind of closeness. Not from him, or anybody else. The whole right side of my body feels warmer, and nervous, somehow. Like little waves radiating out through my skin, making me hyper aware of every movement he makes.

"Do you want to battle?" he asks, picking his own controller back up.

"And battle is the… balloon-thing?"

"Yeah, you have balloo—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, three balloons, get the boxes, blah blah blah, beat you. Let's do it."

"You honestly think you're going to beat me this time?"

"It's a possibility," I say, watching as he sets up the game. "It's mathematically probable."

"I thought you were good at math."

"I am? What are you talking about? The probability is small, but it's still—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah blah blah, let's do this."

He shuffles slightly down the couch, making more elbow room, but it's nowhere near where he sat before. That probably shouldn't make me nervous. Or excited. Or whatever this is.

When I almost beat him five games later, he tries to look annoyed.

"If I were to draw out my learning curve right now, it would be astronomical," I say, making him turn to stare at me. I cross my legs, smirking. "I'm almost on your skill-level, and I've played for what, barely twenty minutes? You should start adapting to the idea that I'm better than you now, so it won't be so painful later."

"I think you're forgetting that I'm the one who's taught you everything you know. I will always be the master. I'm Yoda."

"As if," I say, shoving him.

"Am too," he says, shoving me back. I yelp, almost falling sideways down on the couch. He laughs. "Oh my god, I barely even touched you."

"You surprised me," I huff. "I didn't have time to bra—"

He shoves me again, harder this time, and now I actually do fall over. Jesus christ.

I kick him in the leg, making him curse as he laughs.

"Stop shoving me!"

"It's not my fault you have the upper-body strength of a daisy."

"I do not."

He raises his eyebrows and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Okay. Sit up."

I push up, using the elbow bent underneath me as leverage. He matches the pressure easily, though, and the harder I try, the wider his grin gets.

"I'm not even doing anything."

"Oh my god," I grunt, "what are you, The Hulk?"

"Well, technically I think I'm in a slightly better position to use my full strength than you are. That might have something to do with it."

"You _think_?"

"Also, I've been into sports since I was like three, which again, might have something to do with it."

"Okay, I get it, you're strong, can you let me up now?"

"Also, I think the fact that I'm—"

"If you say anything about being a guy, I swear to god I will rip your balls off," I say. He stiffens in surprise, and I twist under his grasp. His hand slips off my shoulder as I push myself up, but all I manage to accomplish is fitting my boob into his palm.

Oh _._

My _god._

He stares blankly at his hand, and the second lasts a lifetime.

With a choked shout, he jerks away, and time lurches into hyper-speed once again as he bursts out laughing. "Oh my god! I am so sorry," he splutters, hiding his face as he giggles helplessly. "Oh my god."

I fall back on the couch, pulling a pillow over my face as it flames furiously. I start laughing. "I can't— can't believe that just happened."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean t— Are you okay?"

He just touched my boob. I'm laughing too hard to speak, so I give him a thumbs-up instead.

My stomach aches by the time I've calmed down. Edward's breathing heavily next to me, snorting every now and then.

With the pillow still in place, I mumble, "So. That just happened."

"Yup."

I lift the corner of the pillow and peek at him. He's staring at me. At my boob. He's staring at my boob.

He touched my boob.

His eyes flicker up to mine, and when he catches me staring at his staring, he turns red and clambers off the couch.

"I have to, uh… bathroom. I'll— Uhm," he stutters over his shoulder as he flees the room.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

While Edward's in the bathroom, and I'm trying to force my face to stop blushing, there's a knock at the door. Alice thunders down the stairs, and my eyes grow wide as I hear the low rumble of a guy's voice a few seconds later. They grow even wider as the voice comes closer.

I slouch into the couch in an attempt to look cool and relaxed, but I'm neither of those things, so I probably just look like I've grossly misjudged a comment to 'make myself at home.' I straighten up again, seconds before these two people I've never interacted with in my life walk over the threshold.

"Hey," Jasper says, tipping his head up at me like a normal person. He doesn't seem surprised to find me here, and as his eyes glide to the TV, his brows jump in delight. "Oh, sweet, Mario Kart."

Just like that. He makes cool and effortless seem so cool and effortless. My chest tightens slightly with jealousy.

The controller is still next to me on the couch, so I grab it and awkwardly wave it around a little before putting it on the table. "We're, uhm. Finished. If you wanna play."

"You sure?" he asks, and at my nod, he folds himself onto the couch. Alice stands behind him, hands on his shoulders. As he sets up a single-player game, she leans forward until her hands have slipped down his chest, and whispers something in his ear. His answering smile is as sweet as anything, and she grins before kissing him quickly on the cheek.

I turn away, flustered by their affection. This really isn't helping my mind versus gut shouting-match.

"What have you two been up to?" Jasper says, and it takes me a few seconds too long to realize he's talking to me. He and Alice both look at me expectantly.

"Not much," I mumble. "Eating and Mario Kart, mostly."

"My kind of day."

I nod, which they both seem content with as a response.

Edward finally comes back a moment later, and after greeting Jasper and giving him shit for how he's playing, he and Alice bicker about which movie to watch, a battle which ends with Alice victorious and Edward sulking in the armchair to Jasper's right.

"Edward, can you help me in the kitchen?" Alice asks, already walking out of the room.

He frowns, and doesn't get out of his seat. "With what?"

She stops and turns back to him. "The food will be here soon – help me get drinks and shit."

They silently stare at each other for a moment; when Alice widens her eyes in an aggressive manner, he gives up. He grumbles as he rises, and Alice looks smug until he walks past and shoves her into the wall.

She gasps, but quickly recovers. All I can hear as they continue to the kitchen is their yelling and a single fleshy punch, followed by a, " _Jesus, Alice!_ " from Edward.

Jasper laughs at me, and I realize my mouth is hanging open. It's a good-natured laugh, but I snap it shut nonetheless, the back of my neck heating.

"Yeah, that happens a lot," he says.

"I didn't know that," I say, and then I want to slap myself, because of course he knows I don't know that – he wouldn't have told me otherwise. Ugh. Being a person is too hard for me.

He nods, and silence fills the room.

Awkward.

I fidget, my mind grasping uselessly at possible things I can say. Nice weather we're having. How's school? Can't wait for that pizza!

After a minute, he speaks, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Hey, you're in the chess club, right?"

He knows we have a chess club?

"Uhm, yeah. I'm… I'm captain."

His smile grows in delight. "Oh, cool. I guess you're the person I need to talk to, then. I've been thinking about joining."

"Oh?" What?

"Yeah. I didn't actually know we had a club until I saw it in the school paper. About you guys going to that tournament thing, you know?"

I nod dumbly. The only reason we're mentioned in the school paper is because Angela works there, and she put the notice in. I didn't think anyone actually saw it.

"But yeah, I've been playing chess for years. Is it free for anyone to join?"

"Yeah, anyone can… can join, if they want. Uhm."

"Great!" He grins at me – I find myself smiling back, albeit in a confused kind of way. "When d'you meet?"

"Every Friday, after school."

"Cool," he says, looking way happier than anyone should about chess. "I can't next week, but the one after that? Or would you rather I wait until after the tournament?"

"No, you can— Come whenever."

"Awesome. This'll be fun," he says. He then spends the next few minutes telling me stories of playing chess with his dad, and I nod along silently. He doesn't seem to mind, and slowly, gradually, tension begins to drain away from my shoulders, letting me relax. Hanging out with him definitely isn't as scary as I built it up to be.

This moment is slightly surreal.

The pizzas arrive, and with Jasper sitting on one end of the couch, and me on the other, Alice claims the middle while Edward sits in the chair. It's not next to me, and I really wish it was. Not because Jasper and Alice make me uncomfortable or anything, but because the two of them are holding hands, all casual, like that's just what they do, and I might be slightly jealous.

Or uncomfortable. Maybe. I honestly can't tell the difference.

I watch from the corner of my eye as Edward tips his head back to eat another slice of pizza. He has tomato sauce on his chin, and he tried to burp really discreetly earlier, but it didn't work.

And I think I want to hold his hand.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

When the movie is over, Edward walks me home; I didn't think it was necessary, but when he tried insisting he should drive me back instead, I compromised.

We make our way around the house, hoodies up and feet squelching through the wet grass. It's only a light drizzle, so it doesn't bother me. We walk in silence, but it's comfortable. The night is quiet, too, creating a calm mood between us.

I glance at him quickly. He's walking slowly to keep pace, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.

We reach the tree-line, and he switches on the flashlight he brought. We move closer together, trying to walk in the path formed by the light. I feel his arm brushing against my jacket.

Edward's side of the woods is much less navigable than mine. I gingerly step over a protruding root, and he puts his hand out, ready to catch me if I fall.

"I'm fine. But thanks," I laugh.

He nods, smiling shyly. Keeping eye-contact with me for a moment, he says, "I'm glad I decided to walk you. I'd be too nervous, sitting at home, wondering if you'd make it through."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious," he says, grinning now. He shines the light at a stone in our path, wordlessly pointing it out for me. I step around it, leaning in to him a little in the process.

"Thanks," I say. "Would it have made you feel better if I'd texted you once I was safely back home?"

"Oh, I would've insisted on it." He gently steers us to the right, around a thick tree. Up ahead, I can dimly make out the contours of the tree-house. "And if it took you more than five minutes, I would've run out here to make sure you weren't dead or anything."

"I'm not that bad."

"I beg to differ," he says, looking at me sideways.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

He laughs at my tone, and I take a second to enjoy the sound.

Unfortunately, we soon reach the beginning of my yard. The light in the kitchen is on, but I can't see anyone moving in there. They're probably in the living room. I texted Mom earlier to tell her I wouldn't be home for dinner. Her responding message managed to convey exactly how genuinely thrilled she was by that.

Edward and I stop just before the trees end. He turns off the flashlight, putting it in his pocket. The darkness swallows him for a moment, but then my sight adjusts, and he slowly re-emerges in front of me.

I smile, tugging a little on his hoodie. "Thanks, for today. And for walking me home."

He nods, smiling back at me. "No problem."

We watch each other for a moment. I inhale slowly, forcing the tingling feeling across my chest to release. I don't want to leave.

I take a step back, anyway.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you on Monday, I guess."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Bye." My voice is quiet as I turn and step out from the trees.

"Bye," he says, and I throw a glance and a smile over my shoulder.

I look back again when I reach the door. He's still standing there in the darkness and the rain, making sure I get home safe.

Dad is watching a movie while Mom sleeps on the couch when I peek into the living room. I give a quiet wave, and he smiles, waving back. Relieved that Mom isn't awake to give me the third degree, I slip away to my bedroom.

Without turning on the lights, I lie back on my bed. The streetlight outside casts a dim glow across my ceiling, and I stare up at it, thinking.

My mind is still shouting, but it's not as convincing now.

I'm a firm believer in my mind's ability; I like to think I can use logic and reasoning to get through any situation life might throw at me. But right now, the logical, reasonable thing is to trust my gut, instead of my head.

Because, no matter how much I can argue against it, I know I wouldn't use the word 'crush' if that wasn't actually what I was feeling. I wouldn't draw that as a possible conclusion, because it wouldn't be possible. You either have a crush, or you don't, and if you don't… Well, you wouldn't wonder if you did.

I grab a pillow and roll onto my side, hugging it against my chest.

Can I admit it to myself, then? Am I really careening uncontrollably towards my first crush?

The memory of Edward using a Twizzler as a straw this afternoon floats through my mind, the way he could barely hold back a smile because he was so clearly doing it to make me laugh.

The way he looked at me when he asked if I liked muscles or not. The way he looked at Alice when she said he talks about me all the time.

How my skin felt so aware of his movements, whenever he was close to me.

My heart, my lungs, my ribs, everything seems to clench inwards in happiness, and I can't breathe for a second.

I bury my face against the pillow, and exhale.

I don't think I have a choice any more.

I don't even think I'm careening. That's too gentle a word. I'm free falling, head-first, eyes shut.

Terrified and elated, all at once.

* * *

 **You guys are seriously the best. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
**

 **Meg and Kim, I don't know what I would do without you.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

Realizing you have a crush on your best friend goes a little something like this:

You realize it, and immediately regret everything.

I spend several days arguing with myself. I stare into mirrors a lot, thinking things like, ' _You don't actually like him'_ and ' _You're being dumb_ ,' while knowing full well I actually really do like him, and I'm being extremely dumb.

The first time I see him after that night, my heart does somersaults; a giant clenching feeling steals over me, stalling the air in my lungs.

I'm in my truck at school and I see him walking across the parking lot, bag slung across one shoulder, hair styled just how he likes it, unruly and messy. And I'm noticing how well his jeans fit him, and how his jacket hangs just right, and when he walks up to Emmett and gives him a guy-hug, I catch sight of his face and the big, happy smile he has on.

I have to take an unsteady breath and look away.

I can't handle this. I don't know what to do with myself now, when I'm suddenly noticing that Edward is really, _really_ cute. I've found boys cute before, but always in a general sense - never like this. Never to the point where I sit in class and wonder absently what it would feel like to hug them. What their fingers would feel like, braided between my own.

What it might be like to kiss them.

Allowing that thought to come through turns out to be my downfall. Over the next few days, I catch myself imagining it so many times, I lose count. I stare at his mouth. A lot. Whenever he speaks in class, whenever I pass him in the hallway and he's talking to his friends, the two hours we spend in the tree-house on Thursday after school — just… staring at his mouth.

I'm so unbelievably dumb for letting it happen.

And I can't stop.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

 **10 October 2011**

It's a new week, Monday morning. It's been ten days since Edward touched my boob.

Ten days since Alice said he talks about me all the time. Ten days since I realized I've had a crush on him for ages, and I've just been the dumbest person alive for not seeing it sooner.

I feel like I'm losing my mind. It's getting sort of ridiculous. Pretty sure I have an ulcer now.

I lock up my truck and make my way across the parking lot toward the school. The only voice in the mass of sound I can hear is Edward's, from where he stands with his friends by Emmett's Jeep. He laughs, and it makes me want to look at him so badly. I mean, he's right there. It would be so easy.

But I don't. Of course.

I walk up the steps, weaving around the people sitting on them. Why they're doing this is beyond me. It's cold out here, what the hell.

When I reach for the door, it swings open under my hands. Half-tripping, I move out of the way as Mike, flanked by Tyler and Austin, shoves outside. Sadly, my powers of invisibility haven't kicked in yet, and Mike grins when he realizes it's me. He stops in his stride, standing just a little bit too close to be socially acceptable.

"Bella. Hey." His smile makes me uncomfortable. He has a weird smile, like it's not his own, but something he's borrowed. I bet psychopaths have smiles like this; I think I read that once.

Either that, or he's a Mr. Potato Head.

Mike Newton himself doesn't actually scare me. I mean, this is a guy who I know spent every day of preschool shoving something up his nose. It's sort of hard to take him seriously.

But he has the power to make people notice me. All the cool, important students at Forks High consider Mike a friend. If he wants, he can get all of them to actually see me.

He used to not really see me. I wish he'd go back to that. Since that day in Government, I seem to be pinging up on his radar all the time, and he smirks at me every chance he gets. Like he's made me the punchline of a secret joke, and he's just building up anticipation, waiting for the perfect moment to tell it.

It's driving me crazy.

"How was your weekend? Good?" he asks now, lazily shifting his weight to block the doorway.

I hold my shoulder-strap in a death-grip. Whatever this game is, I don't like it. "Sure," I say, hoping he'll shut up and go away.

To my disappointment, he doesn't. "Good, good," he says, nodding casually. He jerks his chin in my direction. "Studying, maybe?"

Austin snorts quietly. My eyes cut to him, and I glare, even as blood rushes to my face. Oh, ha-ha, Bella Swan spent her weekend studying. _Hilarious_.

Mike's smile grows with sick delight as he watches me. "Oh my god, are you blushing?" he asks, horrifyingly. He leans ever so slightly closer, as if studying my face, and I blush harder, both mortified and angry.

He's pointing it out to embarrass me, and he knows it's working. He shakes his head with a laugh, clearly beyond pleased with himself. "Wow. That is priceless."

With that, he moves out of my way, bounding down the steps without another glance in my direction.

Pretending like nothing happened, I hide my blushing face as I make my way into the school.

Seriously: driving me crazy.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

I stare down at my lunch tray. I don't understand how the school cafeteria can make pizza look gross. My slice is all creased and folded over, creating a small dint for the grease to pool in. I press a few napkins into it, trying to absorb as much of the oil as possible.

"Yuck," I whisper as I drop the soaked napkins on my tray.

I take a sip of my water, looking out over the room. Like always, I sit at my own table, tucked away in the corner. I can spend my lunch hour eating and reading in peace, occasionally taking part in some casual observations of the herd. They're all rather subdued today. Maybe because it's Monday.

With a deep breath, I look back down at my pizza. I'm starving, so this should be easy. It just looks so gross.

The doors open while I take a bite, and the cheerleaders and the basketball team pile in. Always the last to arrive, for some reason.

I immediately find Edward, trailing at the end, but my heart only has time to leap for half a second; it plunges into my stomach when I see Lauren walking beside him, talking animatedly.

Her smile is big, and pretty. Her hair is shiny, all straight and rippling as she moves. Edward is paying attention to whatever she's saying. They're walking very close to each other.

I feel sick. I put my pizza down again. It tastes like cardboard in my mouth, and I swallow it with effort.

I really don't like seeing Lauren talking to him. She usually gives off an air of coldness, but that's mysteriously missing right now. She touches his arm for a second, laughing with a beautiful smile.

Ugh.

Edward grins, replying to whatever she said. He gestures for her to go first when they reach the lunch line.

I'm still staring when he turns away from the line, tray in hand. He looks over the room, searching for his friends' table. Sweeping over me, he stops for a second. He smiles, like he can't help himself, and I can't help it either. I love his smile. His smile makes me smile.

Then someone calls his name, and we both start. His head snaps around, leaving me feeling empty. Edward hesitates, his neck straining a little, almost as if he's fighting the urge to look back at me one last time. He doesn't, though, and I feel a twisting sense of both relief and hurt.

I watch as he makes his way over, walking with that ease he has, that confidence. That thing I don't have.

Like, at all.

God, I like him so much. I wish he was sitting with me, close enough that I could like, touch his hand, maybe steal a fry off his tray or something. But instead, I sit alone, with my greasy pizza and my book, while he sits down next to Lauren, who leans her boobs way too close to his arm, and shows off her pearly white teeth. I clench my jaw.

I force myself to look away. I've lost my appetite, but I know I need the food, so the pizza goes down in tasteless clumps. They sit in my stomach, even after I escape to the library ten minutes later.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

I carefully weave my way through the crowded hallway. People seem to like hanging around before the last class of the day, as if that'll magically cancel it or something. It makes it difficult for me to abide by my wish to never touch people, ever.

I walk past most of the basketball team on my way to Government. Edward's there, doing something with his phone, looking cool and basketball-y. I obviously don't notice. Or care.

"Bella!"

I freeze, only a few feet away from the classroom. For a brief second, I think it's Edward calling me, because no one else would have a reason to. But that wasn't his voice, and he'd never.

Slowly turning, I'm faced with Jasper jogging up to me. A path is cleared for him, like Moses.

I look around. People are also looking around, looking at me, looking at Jasper, who's now standing in front of me in a crowded hallway. God, this is the worst.

"Hey, Bella – sorry, I just wanted to talk to you about chess club on Friday."

"Okay?"

"I know you said the meeting's on Friday after school, but you never said where."

"Uhm, English classroom. 108."

My gaze moves helplessly to Edward. He's staring at us, brow furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open. He looks as shocked as I feel, but also a little hurt. Our eyes meet, and he fixes his expression. He turns back to the guys and cracks a grin at whatever Emmett's saying.

"Got it," Jasper says, drawing my focus back. "See you on Friday."

"Yeah. Friday."

He turns and wanders back to his group, and I'm left standing there like an idiot. Someone just talked to me. Publicly. In a crowded hallway.

I'm going to vomit.

Turning robotically, I slip into the classroom. It slowly fills up over the next few minutes, but I sit in my seat, staring out the window. I'm barely even aware of Mike, Tyler, and Austin sitting down at the back with me.

I guess Mr. Jefferson starts the lesson, because he announces he has some exercises for us to do.

"I want you to pair up, and work through this sheet. Get some discussions going, talk through your ideas and bounce them off each other. That's the important bit, all right? I want to see evidence of two opinions coming together. In other words, _team-work_." He interlocks his fingers in a symbolic gesture. "Okay? Every pair hands in one sheet at the end of class, signed by both of you. Got it?"

People nod dispassionately. Yeah, idea-bouncing sounds exactly like something we'll enjoy.

"All right, pair up, and I'll hand these out."

I don't even bother looking around. I always do group-exercises alone when we're free to choose our own partner. I hate group-work. It's just a way for other people to screw me over.

I glance up when Mr. Jefferson comes round the back. He looks between me and the trio to my right.

"I said two-and-two, not three-and-one," Mr. Jefferson says, frowning first at the guys, then at me. "Mike, you and Bella can work together."

I feel the blood drain from my face, my jaw dropping open.

Oh, he has got to be shitting me.

"Mr. Jefferson, I reall—"

"What? Oh, come o—"

He puts up his hand, interrupting both mine and Mike's protests.

"Newton, move. I don't want to hear another word about it. This is a group exercise."

I feel like I'm breaking into a cold sweat. I look over at Mike. His mouth is set in a dissatisfied grimace as he looks back.

Mr. Jefferson puts a sheet down on my table, his eyes turning steely as neither one of us moves.

" _Now_ , Mike," he says, and his voice holds no room for argument. Great, decide to gain some authority just in time to ruin my life. Thanks a lot.

With jerky movements, Mike pushes away from his desk and stomps over to me. I feel my back straighten, every muscle tensed as I lean away from him.

"Fine," Mike spits out as he almost throws himself into the chair next to me. He doesn't notice the disapproving glare Mr. Jefferson gives him; he just pulls the sheet closer so he can read it. Our teacher stands there for another moment before moving away, throwing me to the wolves.

The skin of my neck seems to be crawling, prickling uncomfortably. I realize I very much dislike Mike.

He looks up, eyes hard and mouth in a tight line. He stares at me, not saying a word.

I shouldn't look away. I shouldn't seem weak. But his stare is too cold, and I can't hold it.

"Can I see that?" I mumble at the desk, pointing toward the sheet.

He sneers. "Why? So you can mess it up?"

"No, I—"

"I'll do it, all right?" He looks me up and down. "Just sit there and shut up."

My mouth drops open. Seconds pass like bullets, each one slamming past me too fast. I watch as he picks up his pen and starts writing out answers. I can't even see the questions, because he lays his arm down on the desk, shielding the paper.

Say something. _Say_ something. _Say_ _someth_ —

Too many seconds pass. I look like an idiot. I sit there, mute, choking on my cowardice. Just like he told me to.

When he's finished, he lays the paper face down on the desk and turns to Austin and Tyler. They continue talking until Mr. Jefferson goes around the room, collecting papers.

He picks ours – Mike's – up, but stops after throwing it a quick glances. Shifting his eyes between us, his mouth forms a straight, disapproving line.

Mike doesn't seem to notice. He gets back into own seat without looking at me.

Mr. Jefferson talks us through the assignment, and I pretend I know what he's talking about. He's just finished detailing next week's homework when the bell rings.

"Right, that's it for today," he says, as the class erupts in sudden activity. He raises his voice. "I need to talk to Bella and Mike, so if you two could just hang back."

My stomach drops well below my feet.

"What?" Mike mutters. "That's such bullshit."

Everyone makes it a point to look at us before they leave the classroom. Soon it's empty, except for the three of us and a giant block of tension. Mr. Jefferson waves us up to his desk.

"Can I ask what part of 'group exercise' you two didn't get?" he says, holding up Mike's answers. "I wanted to see team-work. I thought I made that very clear."

My face heats. Mike shifts nonchalantly on his feet, shrugging.

Mr. Jefferson's eyes are unamused as he studies us. "This was only signed by you, Mike. Did you write all of this?"

I stare blankly at a pencil lying next to his elbow on the desk. He's not going to blame me for this, is he?

"Yeah, but I just wrote down our answers," he says, and the lie comes out so smooth even I almost believe him. "I guess she just forgot to sign it at the end."

Mr. Jefferson looks at me. Maybe it wasn't so smooth, because he doesn't look convinced. "Bella? Is that what happened?"

I should lie. Just lie. Say yes. Lie so Mike won't have more ammunition. He has a short temper and reacts to embarrassment by lashing out. Just lie.

But something in me refuses. Stubborn pride, perhaps. The moment grows longer, the silence stretching, and I've hesitated too long, again.

I shake my head. Mr. Jefferson's face relaxes, but remains disapproving. "So you didn't contribute anything to this?"

Mike's glare burns against the side of my head, but I can't be quiet now - I don't want Mr. Jefferson to think it was by choice.

"No. He… He wouldn't let me see it," I say, pointedly pretending Mike isn't there at all.

Mr. Jefferson nods, as if that's what he suspected all along. Relief blossoms through me. "Okay. Thanks Bella, you can go."

I turn and almost stumble into a desk in my hurry to leave. As I make my way to the door, I hear Mr. Jefferson's chair scrape back.

"I thought being a team player was a skill valued pretty highly by Coach," he says dryly. "I wonder what he'd say if I told him about—"

I shut the door on the rest of his words. The hallway's pretty crowded, full of people eager to get home. I weave my way through them, aiming for my locker.

I'm almost there when something grabs my elbow and pulls me around. I gasp, my heart stopping and restarting so fast it almost makes me dizzy. Mike's face is hard, and he's unnecessarily close. He lets go immediately, as if I've burned him.

"Thanks a lot," he says, sneering. I've never seen him so angry. "Next time I tell you to shut up, fucking do it."

I stare up at him. I can't breathe.

"Bitch," he mutters, turning on his heel to leave.

A freshman close by looks at me with wide eyes, turning to watch Mike's path through the crowd. The air stutters from my lungs.

I think I might be more than a tiny blip on his radar now.

I continue to my locker, hands only shaking a little bit.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

Zipping up my coat, I make my way out of the building. I want to get in my truck, go home, and crawl into bed forever.

When I get to the edge of the parking lot, I slow down and dig my keys out of my bag.

Something crashes into my shoulder, and I fall forward with a gasp. Pain shoots through my knees as they hit the pavement, and my keys go flying. My palms scrape against the ground, and I can feel the shock reverberating through my bones.

Looking up, I see Mike, sauntering away with his cronies. Did he seriously just do that?

Against my will, my eyes sting. I blink rapidly, pushing myself back up. My shoulder throbs dully. In front of me, Rosalie leans against Emmett's car. She looks me up and down, and then glances at Mike. Her expression doesn't change.

Whole face burning, I scoop up my keys and hurry over to my truck. Jesus, almost the whole school is out here now. Everyone saw me fall.

Get knocked over. Whatever.

My hands are trembling. I can feel them stinging, the heels of my palms raw. I brush away tiny pieces of gravel embedded in my skin. Distantly, I think maybe I should wait a few minutes before I drive, but I'm already backing out of my spot. Autopilot takes me home without mishaps.

I head directly up to my room after saying a quick hello to Mom.

Definitely not just a blip.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

After dinner, I take a shower. It helps, but only a little bit. I stand under the stream longer than necessary, trying not to think of the fresh bruises on my knees, the thin scabs on my hands.

When I finally get out, the mirror is fogged over. Not that it matters. I don't need to see my own face to know that I look miserable. The cheery, bright green of my towel feels like a joke.

I shuffle back into my room, wondering if I should go to bed and let sleep wash away how dumb this day has been. I glance at the clock and notice that it's only half past eight.

God, I'm such a loser.

I check my phone. I have new messages from Edward.

 **Mom made snickerdoodles. Thought I'd let you know I like yours better.**

 **Have you started the reading for English? I forgot which pages we had.**

 **Alice just asked if I knew they're making an Avengers movie. I give up.**

 **Hello? Bella? You okay?**

I type back. **Yeah, sorry. Left my phone upstairs. We have to read ch. 3-6.**

 **Oookay. No other comments? Nothing about cookies, or how dumb my sister is?**

I take a deep breath, and hold it. I don't know what to tell him.

He texts me again before I can figure anything out.

 **You okay?**

Pressing my lips together, I type, **No.**

 **Why? What's wrong?**

 **Bad day. It's nothing, I'm just tired.**

 **Want to talk about it?**

 **No. Thanks, but I'll be fine.**

 **You sure?**

 **Positive.**

 **Okay.** A few seconds later, **Hey, wanna take a walk?**

A walk? I glance at the window. It's pitch black outside. And since when does he take walks?

I have a sneaking suspicion he's trying to trick me into talking about it.

 **Little late for a walk, don't you think?**

 **So?**

"Good point," I mumble.

I wonder if Mom and Dad would mind. All Mom's talked about lately is how much she likes Edward, and how excited she is that we're friends. I don't think she'd object.

And how do you say no to a walk with Edward Cullen, anyway?

 **Yeah, okay.**

 **Meet outside your house in 15?**

 **Okay.**

* * *

 **High school sucks. But you guys definitely don't. I'll keep saying this forever, but thank you so, so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

 **10 October 2011**

I hesitate in the hallway. The lights and sounds from the TV bounce off the living-room walls. Mom comments on the show they're watching; Dad grunts in agreement. I stand there, equal distance from the stairs behind me, the front door to my left, and the doorway to my right.

What do I say to them? Do I just ask them if it's all right for me to take a walk with a boy? We have no precedent for this kind of behavior from me. I don't think they even know how to give permission for something like this. I certainly don't know how to ask for it. What if they say no?

But maybe they'll be so happy I'm leaving the house for once, I could tell them I'm going to go hang out in a crack-den and they'd celebrate.

Well, maybe Dad wouldn't. Being a cop and everything. If Forks had a crack-den, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want me to go.

I chew on my thumbnail. Why am I so nervous? These are my parents. They're not going to judge me. They're not going to think I'm stupid for taking a walk with a boy.

I look at the clock on the wall. Time's up. Edward should be outside right now, waiting for me.

"Just do it," I mouth to myself, gesturing sternly with my hands.

They sit on the couch, Mom's feet tucked under Dad's legs because of her chronically cold toes. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Maybe I should've planned this better.

Mom raises an eyebrow as I awkwardly shift my weight.

"Something wrong, honey?" she asks, muting the TV.

I shake my head. "No, nothing's wrong. I just… I, uh… I'm going to take a walk."

Silence falls in the room. They stare at me with their mouths open.

"A walk?" Dad says. He exchanges a glance with Mom. "At this time of night?"

I clear my throat, shifting my weight again. "I'm meeting Edward."

Mom's lips form a silent ' _Oh_.' Dad looks back and forth between us, brow furrowed.

"Who?" he asks, and his voice is heavy with the suspicion I didn't want. "Why?"

"No reason." I press my lips together, looking from him to Mom. "We just feel like taking a walk."

Dad doesn't look particularly happy, but he also looks like he doesn't know what to do about it. Perhaps not having a precedent is a good thing.

"Well…" Mom says. She and Dad look at each other. "Uh, have fun… I guess?"

I raise my eyebrows, hope mingling with surprise. Will it really be this easy?

"Yes, don't… Don't… uh, don't stay out too late," Dad says, even though he doesn't seem very sure about it.

"I won't."

"Okay," Mom says, watching me while I back out of the room. I wave before I disappear from sight, hurrying over to the door. I slip on my shoes, grab my coat and keys, and head outside.

I bound down the porch, and even though I knew he was going to be there, seeing Edward standing at the end of our driveway is still a shock.

I smile timidly, walking over. He looks good, his cheeks pinked with cold. He pushes his hood back as I come closer, ruffling his hair back into place. Stopping in front of him, we watch each other for a moment. His smile looks just as timid as mine feels.

"Hi," he says, and he does this weird thing where he tips up on his toes, leaning closer. My stomach flips, but then he falls back on his heels, and fumbles as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

Was he going to hug me? Why didn't he hug me?

I should hug him.

He looks away.

No, see, now it's weird.

I need to learn how to deal with boys. And hugging, actually.

People, in general.

My gaze falls to his feet. "Are those hiking boots?"

"Yeah, I borrowed them from Dad."

"Were you planning on walking far? It's a school night."

"Well, you never know. I thought I'd be prepared for anything."

"Okay then, boyscout." I head up the street, and he falls into step beside me. "So what's up with the walk?"

"I don't know, I thought it'd be nice."

"Just seemed a little out of the blue, is all."

"Why, do you think I have ulterior motives or something?" He smirks at me. I try not to notice.

"I don't know, maybe."

"Well, I might have one or two, but mostly I thought it'd be nice."

"One or two?"

"Yeah, but we'll get to that later."

"Okay?"

He smiles, and we continue walking in silence. We reach the end of the street and turn right, moving away from our neighborhood.

"Tell me what happened with Mike."

The words come out of nowhere and I almost stumble to a stop. How did he hear about that?

He looks at me, straight-faced and serious. "I saw you this morning, when he blocked the door. What did he say to you?"

I'm such an idiot. Of course he saw that, he was standing in the parking lot.

Instinctively, I shake my head as embarrassment crawls over my skin. "Nothing."

"Bella."

"What?"

He tugs on my arm until we come to a stop, just on the edge of the light from a street lamp. It casts his face in shadows, making his eyes darker than normal. His brow has a determined set to it, almost angry as he fixes me with a stare.

"Can we not do this? Can we not pretend like I'm not incredibly familiar with how much of a douchebag Mike Newton is? I've known him since I was five."

I bite the inside of my lip, looking away from him. Dammit. "He wasn't… It wasn't that bad."

His fingers tighten slightly on my arm before he lets go. "What did he say?"

"Just— I don't know, he implied I'm a massive nerd who studies all the time. Like I said, nothing."

"Why?"

My gaze finds its way back to his, and I stare at him, incredulously. " _Why_? Why do you think? Because I am a massive nerd who studies all the time."

He rolls his eyes, and when I tell him not to roll his eyes at me, he does it again.

"Stop it."

"I mean," he says, ignoring me, "why is he suddenly saying that? Did something happen?"

"Listen, I'm not an expert on the inner workings of Mike Newton's mind, all right? How the hell would I know?"

"'Inner workings' is a bit generous," he argues.

"Well, whatever," I say, throwing my hands up. "I don't know why, he just did. Maybe it was 'Pick on a Nerd Day' or something."

"Would you stop saying that? You're not a nerd." That determined-angry brow thing comes back.

"What? I like being a nerd. And it's not like you're one to talk, Mr. Compulsive Comic Book Collector." I finish off this amazing comeback by crossing my arms.

"Okay, that's not— Don't change the subject," he mutters. "That's not why I wanted to talk to you."

I cross my arms harder. "Right, you just want to talk about Mike Newton, of all people. When you said you had an ulterior motive for taking a walk, I didn't actually believe you, you know."

"Well, now you know better for next time," he says, matter-of-fact. "And of all people, Newton's the only one bothering you."

"He's not bother—"

"Yes, he is."

I glare at him. He's right, of course, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. "He's an idiot. So he called me a nerd, who cares?"

"I care," Edward says, jabbing his finger at himself. The angry-determined percentage tips a little in angry's favour. "After two years of asking me to pretend like we're not friends, you seriously expect me to believe it didn't bother you that Mike talked to you in front of the whole school? That you're fine?" His glare has far more fire behind it than mine. "Or are you saying it's okay for other people to talk to you, but not me?"

"That's not fair," I bite out, even as my crossed arms become less defensive and more self-comforting. "You know that's not true."

A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he takes a deep breath in through his nose. "Okay, fine. But Mike Newton talked to you, in public. _Jasper_ freaking talked to you in public," he adds, looking annoyed. "You looked like you were about to faint both times, and now you're going to stand here and tell me it was nothing? Seriously? How is _that_ fair?"

We match each other, glare for glare, and I can feel blood flushing my cheeks, either in annoyance or embarrassment, I can't tell. His eyes flicker over my face, and the stubborn set of his features gives way slightly, like I've answered his question without saying anything. He still looks annoyed, though.

"You know you don't have to play it off with me, right? This is what friends are for," he says, gesturing with his finger between us. "You tell each other about shitty things that happen."

"Oh my god," I mutter, turning away from him. Groaning, I walk a tight circle, trying to expel this nervous frustration skittering down my spine, before I face him again. Planting my feet, I exhale, hard. "Fine. _Fine_. Yes, it bothered me. Mike sucks, and I hate him. He's a stupid moron, and I hate that he talked to me in public, and I don't know why he's doing it, but it sucks, all right?" I throw my hands out. "There. Happy?"

"No," he mutters. "Obviously not happy. And what about Government class?"

My mouth falls open. "Wha— How did you hear about that?"

"Austin and Tyler told us."

"Us?"

"The guys. We were heading off to practice," he says, watching me as I run a hand through my hair, clenching my fist tightly. Goddammit.

Shoulders sagging in defeat, I tell him what happened, how Mr. Jefferson made us work together, only for Mike to force me aside.

"And then Mr. Jefferson wanted to talk to us after class, and once he found out what happened, he asked me to leave so he could talk to Mike alone. I don't know what he said."

I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug, raising both eyebrows at Edward. "So that was my shitty day. Anything else you want to know?"

He looks mollified but still worried. "Is there anything else?"

A painful lump catches in my throat. "No."

He nods his head slowly, glancing down at his feet and then up the road. The street is silent except for the faint rustle of wind through the trees. His eyes eventually track back to find mine. He lets out a slow sigh, and I can almost see the tension draining out of him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get angry, I just…"

The skittering frustration still lurking at the back of my skull softens at his tone. I swallow against the lump, forcing it down. "I know," I say, quietly.

He nods, the corner of his mouth turning up for a second. "You know. I guess I was just… frustrated." He glances at me, apologetic.

"I get it," I say. And I do. Better than I thought I could. "And… I'm sorry, too. I know I wasn't being fair. You were right." I have to look away from his face - he's watching me too intensely. "I just didn't… I guess I didn't want you to pity me. Or something. So it was easier to downplay it."

"I get that," he says, brows drawing together thoughtfully. "I don't pity you, for the record. I mostly just want to punch Mike in the face."

I huff out a laugh, glancing at him sideways. "As much as I appreciate the sentiment, please don't."

He waves my words away, and we stand in silence for a moment.

Feeling the need to lighten the mood, I say, "Did you really ask me to go for a walk so you could trick me into telling you about Mike?"

He laughs in surprise. "Uh, yeah, a little bit. Sorry."

I punch his arm lightly. "You're too sneaky for your own good."

"Well, it worked, so I don't care," he grins. "But I was actually being honest before - I mostly just thought it'd be nice."

I shrug, making a vague noise of agreement.

"What, you don't think this is nice?" he asks, a teasing glint shaping his eyes and his grin. "Your worst nightmare came to life when not one, but _two_ people talked to you in public, and now we're standing out here in the dark and the cold rehashing the whole thing. I think this is super nice."

"Shut up," I laugh, punching his arm again.

His grin slowly mellows into a smaller, contemplative smile as the silence stretches between us again. He rocks up on his heels, and I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see where his train of thought has taken him.

"What'd he say to you, anyway?" he asks eventually. "Jasper, I mean."

"Asked about the chess club."

"Why?"

"Because he joined."

He blinks at me. "He joined the chess club?"

"Yeah. We talked about it when we watched the movie at your place. He brought it up while you and Alice were in the kitchen. I thought he told you."

His expression barely changes, but somehow he immediately looks miffed.

"No, he hasn't said anything. So are you two like… friends, now?"

"I wouldn't go that far," I say, watching him curiously.

He shifts his shoulders in a gesture bordering on uncomfortable. "Right. I just… I don't know. It was weird."

"What was?"

"Him talking to you."

I smile. "Yeah. I didn't know how to react."

"But you were fine."

"I didn't feel fine. Did I look fine?"

"Better than I would've thought, anyway. Aside from the near-fainting thing."

"Right. Well, I wasn't."

I hesitate, then. He won't look directly at me, taking an unusual interest in the small pieces of gravel under his shoe.

"Were you… fine?" I venture. "With him talking to me?"

He doesn't say anything, but the uncertain set of his mouth and another shrug does the talking for him.

"You know I didn't want him to, right? I don't want you to think you're the only one who can't talk to me, or whatever."

He scratches his eyebrow. "No, I know. I was— I wouldn't say _annoyed_ , but… Something. You know."

I reach out and squeeze his wrist. He looks down at our hands. "I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," he murmurs. "And it wasn't like I was annoyed at you, anyway. Just the situation, I guess."

"Yeah."

We stand in silence for a moment. I slowly let go of his wrist and tuck my hands into the pockets of my coat. His eyes follow the movement.

He takes a deep breath. "So. Chess club buddies. Newton being a dick. You've had an exciting day."

"Guess so."

He hums, looking down the street to his right, and then up to his left. A gust of wind blows hair across my eyes, and I reach up to tuck it back behind my ear. I jump slightly when Edward grabs hold of my arm, pulling my hand closer. He angles it under the light, frowning, and my stomach sinks.

"What happened?" He lightly runs his thumb over the scratches. The skin's still sensitive enough that a light burn ripples through my hand. I fight the urge to pull it back into my pocket.

He doesn't know.

I think about being honest. I think about saying the words, ' _Newton pushed me_.' But I don't want to be the victim again tonight. I want to forget about the whole thing, just for now. Because Edward's holding my hand, and it feels so nice. It feels _so good_. And after today, this is exactly what I want. I want to be selfish and have my crush hold my hand. I want to leave it at that. Just for now.

Even if it makes me a coward.

"I fell," I say. "In the parking lot. It was really embarrassing."

"What, after school?" His gaze jumps back and forth between my eyes.

"Yeah. Everyone saw."

He winces. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm surprised you didn't see it," I say, watching him.

"I was probably already in practice," he says.

He ghosts his thumb over it again, lighter this time, and while it still burns, it's not as much. It almost feels kind of nice. My neck heats up.

I gently take my hand back. That skittering, nervous feeling comes back, but without the frustration this time. I can't stand still.

Without looking at him, I continue walking down the street. He catches up after a few steps, and we walk in silence for a minute.

We eventually get to the small park at the end of our neighborhood. Set back slightly from the road, where the light from the street lamps can't quite reach, the old playground sits nestled in the corner, the edge of the woods curving around it.

"I haven't been there in years," I say, nodding at it.

Edward laughs. "Yeah, me neither."

We look at each other; he raises his eyebrows, and I smile in response. His answering grin is infectious.

"Come on," he says, before jogging across the street, me following in his wake.

* * *

 **If you had an inkling this story was all about baby steps, go ahead and give yourself a pat on the back.  
**

 **Thank you so much for reading. Knowing you guys are enjoying this story means the world to me.**

 **And Meg, Kim: so do you.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

 **10 October 2011**

The park is dark, and silent but for the whisper of wind through the trees. I follow Edward across the grass and into the sand around the playground; it shifts and slips under my feet and finds its way into my shoes, so cold it almost feels damp.

Ahead of me, Edward walks up to the monkey bars; bending to walk under the tallest one, he says, "I can't believe it still looks the same. They haven't changed anything around here."

It's true, they haven't. I glance around, taking it all in. It could do with a new lick of paint.

Edward hoists himself up on the bar, a smooth, even motion that I envy and admire. Balancing his hips against it, arms strained and straight, he takes a moment to steady himself, and then wags his eyebrows in my direction. "Eh? Go on, applaud me. I can see you're impressed."

I laugh, walking past him. "Good job."

"Thanks."

The jungle gym stands behind him, and it looks so much smaller than I remember. It used to be this huge, terrifying thing. The rope-bridge that looked miles and miles long when I was young is actually only like six feet, and not even that high above the ground.

I walk closer, running my fingers over the old wood of the pillars. The dark-blue paint is faded in places, and people have carved hearts and block-letters here and there.

Why was I so scared of this thing? It's not scary at all. I feel a pang of regret for my childhood-self. I never got to have fun on it. Not the way I was supposed to.

I feel Edward come up behind me. He reaches out and touches the rope fondly. "This was my favorite part," he says, smiling to himself.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Digging through his memories, he seems to come up with a particularly treasured one, as his face transforms with happy nostalgia. "I used to pretend I was a superhero, climbing over a pit of lava to rescue a princess locked in the tower."

"Aren't princes supposed to do that?"

Edward shrugs, grinning down at me. "Yeah, but superheroes are cooler."

The idea of Edward rescuing imaginary princesses is adorable. I smile, looking up at the ropes. "I remember how you used to run around on this thing."

He raises his eyebrows, and I shrug. "I liked watching you run around. You weren't scared of anything."

He laughs. "I was actually terrified of heights. I just did it because everyone else did." He looks at me and nods to himself. "You were cooler."

"How was I even remotely cool?"

"Because you used to just sit on the swings and read a comic book, even if all the other kids were running around. You did your own thing. And you were like, six. That is incredibly cool."

I let out a soft laugh. "Mom hated that. She always wanted me to play with you guys. She and Esme talked sometimes, you remember?"

He grins. "And she'd try to make you play tag with Alice or something, but you'd just keep reading."

"I almost feel bad for her. I wasn't an easy kid."

"Better than most, I'd think," he says, and his smile turns soft, and his eyes warm, and he's looking at me in a way I can't deal with. The thought that I would do anything to make him look at me this way forever slides sideways into my mind, finding its home as easily as that.

Maybe I stare at him for too long, because his soft smile becomes a lopsided one, and he looks down at the ground. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he nods to himself.

"You know, sometimes I'd pretend you were the princess locked in the tower."

"Shut up, you did not."

"I did, I swear. When I rescued you, you'd be so grateful you'd share your comic books with me."

Fighting a smile, I punch his arm. I keep wanting to touch him in small ways like this. "You could've just asked. I wouldn't have said no."

"You were too cool. I didn't have the guts." He's smiling without teasing me when he says this, and more thoughts of his smile and his lips and forever slide into my brain from every direction, somehow tilting my perceptions so I'm suddenly not at all sure if they haven't been there all along.

I clear my throat and point behind him at the metal handlebars suspended between the two towers. Kids used to crawl across the top, or swing from bar to bar by their hands.

"Remember that thing?"

"Yeah. I remember when Emmett broke his arm falling off," Edward laughs, walking to stand below it. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around the rungs. "God, his mom was so angry. She wouldn't let him play on here for like a year after."

"What happened?"

"We were trying to see who could hang upside down the longest." He drops his arms and grins, a dangerous one that reminds me of the kind of adventures I only ever read about. "Think I could still do it?"

"Do what?"

He doesn't answer, and instead walks around me, close enough that his arm brushes mine as he passes. Grabbing the handlebars, he climbs into the tower, sandy shoes slipping on the steps.

"What are you doing?" I laugh, as I watch him try to fit his 18-year-old body into a space he outgrew ten years ago.

With a surprising amount of grace, he gets to his feet. The railing barely reaches him mid-thigh.

"You're going to fall down," I observe, crossing my arms loosely.

"And do what? Land softly in the sand three feet down? I'll be fine."

"It's actually more like five feet."

"Eh."

He climbs onto the bars, pulling himself easily into the middle. He slowly arranges himself into a seated position and wiggles his ass backwards until he's hanging upside down by his knees in front of me.

His jacket slips a little down his body, and I can see his underwear and an inch of skin. My eyes snag, and I pull them away with some effort.

"Hey, look," he says, releasing his grip and stretching his arms out at his sides. "No hands, no hands."

"You're such an idiot," I laugh. I step closer, watching in amusement as he slowly turns red.

I sink down onto my knees in front of him. He grins, and he looks so ridiculous. His hair flops away from his head, sticking out more than usual. I want to run my fingers through it so much, I can't help myself. Without thinking too much about it, I raise my hand.

It's exactly as soft as it looks. Edward does nothing but smile, watching me. I give a few of the strands a gentle tug before sitting back, fist clenched as I try to hold on to the feeling.

"You know, you kinda look like Spiderman."

His loud laugh makes me smile.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say, picturing him in a Spiderman outfit. Unsurprisingly, I find the idea very appealing. "You know, in that scene from the first one, in the rain."

"Yeah. So in this scenario, does that make you MJ?" he chuckles.

Yes, please.

I shrug, acting nonchalant. Probably not very successfully. "I don't know, does it?"

His face slowly pulls down in confusion.

"Like, because you're Spiderman, it's up to you who MJ is," I clarify.

He frowns more.

"No, but like, in the movie, MJ is special to Peter because he likes her, right? That scene in the rain wouldn't be the same if he was just rescuing some random stranger. That scene is what it is because of Peter's feelings for MJ, you know? So whether or not me sitting in front of you right now makes me MJ is up to you. Up t-to Spiderman. Not, uh, _you_ -you. That would be— Uhm. Spiderman-you. You when you're Spiderman. Uhm."

He stares at me.

I need to stop talking about Spiderman's feelings. Immediately.

Pushing up from the ground, I brush the sand from my knees. He can't tell I'm blushing if I move farther away. That's just science.

"Can you get down now? You're making me nervous. I didn't bring my phone so I can't call an ambulance if you fall down and break something."

"I won't fall down. But yeah, I need to stop doing this. My head's about to explode."

He grabs hold of the bars again, and somehow manages to pull himself back up.

I gape at him. "How the hell did you do that?"

He looks down at me, swinging one leg over the side so he's straddling it. "What?"

"Sit up like that."

"I don't know, I just did."

"Are you actually Spiderman?"

"I'm athletic."

"Bullshit."

He grins.

I cross my arms. I uncross my arms. He's just sitting there, staring down at me as I stare up at him.

I don't think he's coming down.

It looks… fun.

I glance around, even though I know we're alone. Edward swings his legs, and when I look back up at him, he raises his eyebrows. _Well? You coming, or what?_ , they say.

 _I am_ , my own reply, after only a beat of hesitation, and his grin becomes even more dangerous than before.

Walking over to the tower, I grip the handles, feeling the old paint cracking under my fingers, and climb up. I fit much better in here than Edward did, but I'm much less graceful. I'm literally only four feet off the ground, but it feels like a hundred, and I'm as cautious as if it were.

Edward's watching me, legs still swinging casually. "Any time this decade, Swan."

"Shut up."

Slowly rising to my feet, I stare out across the bars in front of me. I'm going to fall off and die.

Copying how Edward did it, I lift my knees onto the first rung, hands clenching around the bars so hard it hurts. I'm slow and wobbly, but eventually I'm sitting in front of him, legs on either side of the bars. He slow-claps.

"Stop it," I say between clenched teeth.

"Why didn't I film that? That was great."

"Are you sure you want to keep going down this road, considering your vulnerable position?"

"What vulnerable position?"

I wave my hand at his groin. He looks down, and then immediately cups himself.

"Please don't do that," he says, his expression pained. "I've been told I'll need them one day."

"So don't make fun of me," I mutter, eyes on anything but his hands.

"Stop threatening my private parts."

"Stop… being dumb."

I tip my head up as he laughs. The night is clear, and I can see the stars. My breath rises in front of me, faintly white.

"Hey. Look at that," I say, pointing skyward.

After a moment, he replies, "Huh."

Silently, we watch the stars. When my neck starts hurting, I carefully lean back, stomach clenching nervously the whole time. Flat on my back, I hold on tightly to the bars at my sides.

Edward's legs bang into mine when he does the same. He playfully kicks at my shoes, making me let out a shrill squawk.

"Oh my god, don't do that!" I hold on tighter. He laughs, kicking me again. "Asshole."

"It's not like you're going to fall down."

"You don't know that."

"Pretty sure I do, though."

"You're going to be really embarrassed later when I do it. Just you wait. I'll break my leg."

He laughs again, and I can feel it through the metal under my back.

"Okay, if you fall down, I promise to acknowledge that you were right before I do anything else."

"Thank you."

We go back to watching the stars. Minutes pass, and I pick out all the constellations I can see, a leftover from my brief interest in astronomy when I was ten. I trace the stars of the Big Dipper again and again with my eyes, imagining lines to connect them.

Every once in awhile I feel Edward's foot brushing past mine when he swings his leg. It makes me want to be closer. I bunch the hood of my coat up under my head, cushioning it from the rung I'm resting on. Nothing about this is physically comfortable, but I could stay here forever.

"Bella?"

"Mm?"

"I need to tell you something."

I feel like these are words that should make me nervous, but it's too peaceful out here for that. The stars burn in the sky above me, and the cold bites at my cheeks. "What?"

He draws a deep breath, pausing. I wait, but nothing further comes. Did he change his mind?

When I raise my head to ask, he haltingly speaks.

"I— It might… Telling you might ruin everything. But I think you already know, because I'm an idiot, so I'm going to tell you. Even if it ruins everything."

"Ruins what?"

I don't think he heard me. He continues to stare at the sky, nervously picking at his thumb. "You know, earlier? What you said about Spiderman?"

"Yeah?"

"If I was Spiderman…" He clears his throat. "I— Yes."

I blink. "Yes?"

"Yes. That would make you MJ."

The wind whispers past, ruffling my hair. It's the only part of me that moves.

"What?"

Quickly, he says, "I needed to tell you. I'm tired of not telling you."

I sit up, wobbling slightly as I do. "I'm MJ?"

Swallowing, he nods.

My stomach falls out of me, swooping, swooping, filled with the stars above, and I can't _breathe_ , I can't do anything, I can't, I can't—

My hands tremble, fingers numb.

"Edward," I say, voice thin. "Look at me."

He doesn't. He sits up, but he won't look at me. I reach out and touch the back of his hand. His skin is cold.

"Why are you telling me this now?" My voice is shaky, and I sound so nervous. I don't sound like myself, and I'm not entirely sure I am myself. I'm on the edge of my body, half-in, half-out, like I'm standing in the doorway, watching words come out of my mouth without any control over them.

He smiles down at the ground. "Because it's true." Like it's that simple. Maybe it is, to him. "And I know this changes things, and that it might… " He trails off, waving his hand between us, "ruin stuff. Anyway. I needed to tell you. And now I've told you."

I exhale, stomach swooping, swooping, and finally he looks at me, searching my face and my eyes.

The world absolutely stops, time looping and looping and looping, just to keep me here a moment longer, just another moment to savour this, to feel this.

Just one more moment.

"I _like_ you," he says, slowly, carefully, and the stars in my stomach rise right out of me, out the top of my head, and it feels so light, so endless. Oh god, I'm getting dizzy.

Holy shit.

When I continue staring at him in stunned silence, he licks his lips and lowers his gaze. "I'm not expecting anything. It's okay if you don't… you know. I really just needed to say it."

My heart is about to crack one of my ribs. Stomach swooping, _swooping_ , I ask with a voice barely more substantial than air, "You like me?"

He just nods, mouth pressed lightly together as he glances off to the side.

I am incredibly, wholly and completely unprepared for this.

A sound escapes me, a breath, a moan, a gasp in reverse - I don't even know. It's ridiculous, but it's the only thing I can do to express how my head is full of stars and how my stomach won't stop _swooping_ , for god's sake, and I'm still dizzy and my hands tremble, fingers numb but somehow tingling, somehow dousing my veins with fizzing, bubbling, pure and brilliant _something_.

Time speeds up, taking back the moments it let me have before, and then some.

And it's only then that I notice how his shoulders have started to hunch, and my brain screeches to a stop. His mouth becomes a thinner line, his brows furrow, and he closes his eyes for a second, clearly chastising himself.

I realize I've been staring at him in silence for a good few seconds, probably looking less filled with stars and a lot more horrified.

Stuttering out a few sounds, I grab his wrist, almost in panic. He doesn't even have time to look at me before I watch myself from the doorway as I say, "I like you, too."

I want to throw myself off these damn bars and bury myself in this playground for the rest of eternity.

His lips part, and it's his turn to stare at me in stunned silence. Seconds pass, more and more, and still he doesn't speak. Oh _god_ , this is _awful_.

"Say something," I plead, releasing his wrist. He doesn't react, and now my stomach is swooping for a completely different reason. I might throw up. "You really need to say something. Right now. Edward, I'm freaking out, can you please jus—"

He puts his other hand over my mouth, instead. I hold my breath, eyes widening.

"You like me, too?"

Time has no meaning any more. Whatever it's doing, I can't keep up.

I nod my head, once.

Slowly, and very precisely, he breaks out in the widest, happiest grin I have ever seen on his face.

I flush all over, heat flooding up to my face. His hand is still on my mouth.

He just told me he _likes_ me. It's not just me. I'm not alone with my crush.

It's not just me.

He likes me. We _like_ each other. _Each. Other._

Ohgodohgodohgod—

"You just scared the crap out of me," he says, and then he's laughing. He puts a hand to his chest, over his heart. "Fuck. For the record, just staring at someone after they confess their feelings for you isn't nice. Zero out of ten doctors recommend it."

A nervous, giggling sound comes out of me, muffled by his hand. We're confessing feelings. Holy shit. _Feelings_. There are feelings involved in this situation. Edward has feelings he needed to confess.

Blushing harder, I pull my head back so his hand falls away from my face. Very shakily, I say, "Can we get down from here? I'm super light-headed."

"Oh, shit, sure," he says, instantly wide-eyed and worried instead of smiling and heart-stoppingly perfect. Scooting back, he swings his right leg over the bars and just jumps down, like it's nothing. Like he's a mountain goat.

Since my heart's still beating like a marching-drum and my hands are kind of trembly, I'm a bit more cautious. I lean forward onto my stomach before turning, letting both legs dangle over one side. With the bars pressed into my gut and my legs hanging freely, I realize my mistake.

"Oh, no."

"What's wrong?" He sounds worried.

"This is very scary."

He busts up.

"Am I far from the ground? Edward, I'm going to die."

"You'll be fine," he chuckles. He stands next to me, bending at the waist and twisting up to look at me from below. His grin is obnoxious.

"Don't be obnoxious."

"I'm not being anything," he argues. He disappears from sight, but almost immediately I feel his shoulder against my legs. Oh, god.

"Come on, I've got you." He wraps an arm around my knees.

I debate not doing anything, because this might be more than I can handle. But hanging here really kind of hurts, so I loosen my grip, and he moves the tiniest bit back so I can feel that he's got me. Clenching my eyes shut, I slide carefully down his body. My butt slips past his shoulder, and I really hope he's not thinking about my butt being on his shoulder.

When I'm only holding on with my fingers, my entire back is against his chest. His arm is around my waist, and I can feel his breath against my ear. I wonder how plausible it would be to stay here forever.

He _likes_ me. He's my best friend, my favorite person in the whole damn universe, and he told me he likes me.

He bends at the knees, slowly lowering me to the ground. Sand shifts under my feet, but I don't pull away, not until his arm loosens around me, and he takes a small step back with a mumbled, "There."

I turn to face him, something warm and soft trembling in my chest. I wish we weren't standing in this dark playground, where I can't see his face as clearly as I would like. I think I'm going to want to remember every last detail of this moment for the rest of my life, and seeing his face clearly would probably help.

The little light that shines shows me the smile in his eyes, the relief in the line of his shoulders. It shows me an Edward that has quite suddenly gone from best friend to… something different. Someone I've never met before, but who I can't wait to get to know.

We watch each other in silence. It's only comfortable at first, but the longer we watch, the better it gets. He gets a hint of a smile on his lips, and I feel my face respond in kind.

He shifts subtly closer. I've never silently looked into someone's eyes when they've stood this close. Not that I make a habit of silently staring into people's eyes or anything, but even if I did, this would be special.

"So…" he says, dipping his head in a cute little nod, as if he has loads of answers he's dying for me to ask the questions to.

I want to ask him if he actually, really, truly does like me, because it seems so impossible, but I can't bring myself to be quite so forward.

"Was this the main reason you wanted to take a walk?" I ask instead.

He laughs down his nose. "You're giving me a lot of credit if you think this is anything but me improvising. Not to ruin the moment, but I think I kind of blacked out for a second? And then I came back, and it was too late to stop talking, so I just had to like… keep going."

I don't say it, but that just makes all of it so much better.

"Still, it turned out a lot better than I thought," he continues, watching me in a way that sends my heart rushing to catch up. With what I'm not entirely sure, but I like it all the same.

"Yeah?"

He nods, a shy smile drawing my focus to his lips.

"Did you think it'd turn out horrible?"

"I've had nightmares."

"No, you haven't."

"One. I've had one nightmare, and it involved you turning me down and telling Wolverine to kill me."

Sideways thought: how long has he liked me?

"Why did I have him kill you?"

"I like to think you were being poetic. Like, you turned me down and figuratively crushed my heart, and then made someone literally do it. For good measure, or something."

"Seems excessive."

"Yeah, this was better."

"Would it really have broken your heart? If I said I didn't… If I said no, or whatever?"

"Literally? Probably not."

I shove his shoulder, but he just grabs my hand, probably not realizing how his touch fizzes up my veins, just like before.

"I would've acted like it didn't, but on the inside, I would be crying."

"How are you making me feel bad for you over something that didn't even happen?" I say, pretending I'm not about to float up into the sky.

"I'm just that good."

I roll my eyes, and he looks overly proud of himself. Testing the waters, I shift my fingers inside his hold, hooking them around his. His self-satisfied smirk melts immediately into something pleasantly surprised, and he watches me wordlessly as we both adjust to the reality of holding hands like this. Just like I wanted the other night, watching movies at his place.

I have to carefully inhale to stop myself from squealing. It's practically bubbling in my chest, this sound of pure emotion, and I'm pretty sure I'd scare him if I let it loose.

"Can I try something?"

His speaking catches me off guard, focused as I am on not scaring him with feelings. His head is tilted ever so slightly in concentration, and I nod, waiting for whatever he's planning.

But all he does is raise his hand, touching his fingertips to my neck. A stillness washes over me, anticipation and nerves rendering me solid. He hesitates before his thumb brushes lightly against my jaw, and his gaze sweeps across my face.

Holy crap.

His eyes come to a slow stop at my lips, and the curiosity there settles into some kind of decision.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He smiles as he tells me, "Improvising."

"Are you going to kiss me?" I whisper. Are we supposed to be kissing already?

He one-shoulder-shrugs as a response, and I realize I don't care, at all. He should've kissed me hours, days, weeks ago. Months. Years.

"I think we should try it."

"Oh?"

He nods slowly, and it's making it so hard to concentrate, having him so incredibly near.

He bends closer, tilting my chin up. I can't believe this is happening. This is actually happening. Edward is going to kiss me. His hand is on my face, and his lips are going to be on my lips, and he likes me, and he's my favorite person, and I'm so lucky, that he likes me, that he wants to kiss me, that this is actually happening.

I close my eyes just before I feel his mouth fall against my own.

We both inhale, growing still. His fingers press more fully against my neck. His lips are cold and a little dry, but they're soft under mine, softer than I thought they'd be. Oh, this is good. He shifts a little, taking my bottom lip between his, but otherwise he doesn't move, and neither do I. A moment passes, and then another, and the pressure of his mouth grows stronger, his lips moving ever so slightly. My stomach doesn't even know what gravity is any more.

Kissing is my favorite, I just decided.

Kissing Edward is even more my favorite.

Holy crap, I'm kissing Edward.

I slowly pull away. His eyes stay closed, and a small concentrated wrinkle smooths out on his forehead.

"Yes, that was a very good plan," he says, voice slightly croaky.

"Yup. Very good. Works really well."

He opens his eyes, gaze immediately falling to my mouth. He grins.

"You just kissed me."

"I did."

"We kissed."

"We did," I say, and then I'm laughing. His fingers leave my neck, and he takes my left hand in between both of his, as if to warm me. I don't tell him I'm so deliriously happy in this moment that the cold doesn't phase me at all, nor do I say that even if I was freezing my ass off, I wouldn't leave this spot for a huge open fire and ten blankets.

I just hold his hand right back, and smile.

* * *

 **Sometimes you just need some Spiderman, man.  
**

 **Thanks so much for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

 **11 October 2011**

I wake up before my alarm.

My eyes snap open with an awareness that I'm not used to in the mornings. Yesterday comes flooding back to me all at once, and I have no hope of falling back asleep.

I am still full of stars.

I stare at my ceiling, cheeks burning and feet restless. It really did happen.

And today it will happen some more.

I check the time, and _6.13 am_ blares back at me as I squint at the screen of my phone.

Well, that's borderline cruel.

I shove it back under my pillow, grumbling. That's hours until I see him.

An anxious, restless sort of energy skitters and zips across my skin, from the top of my head and the tips of my toes. I pick up my book, but barely read a sentence before I throw it down. I can't concentrate. My feet continue to move under the covers, and I tap my fingers against my stomach.

Yesterday doesn't feel real. I still can't wrap my head around the idea of Edward liking me back. It's such an impossible concept. It feels like those moments where I find myself thinking about the never-ending size of the universe — my brain can't cope with the idea of something not having a definable end, just like I can't cope with the apparent reality that Edward has a crush on me.

He _likes me._ How does that even happen?

The memory of his lips on mine explodes to the forefront of my mind. His fingers on my neck. His thumb along my jaw. The small, shaky exhale he'd made right before, which I felt blossom against my chin.

My stomach bottoms out, and the stars burst into pure, brilliant light.

I pull the covers up over my head, biting down on my lip to keep my giggles quiet. I can't help it; I'm too happy to hold it all in, and it needs to come out somehow. I'm bursting with adrenaline and joy and stars.

He likes me. Such a simple concept.

Mom is the first one down in the kitchen a little later. She's yawning, clutching the ends of her dressing gown closed against the chill. She stops when she sees me, going from sleepy-eyed to wide-eyed in a second.

"Oh," she says. "You're up early."

I shrug non-committally, going back to my cereal. "Couldn't go back to sleep."

She takes that in, slowly continuing her shuffle into the kitchen. "Okay."

She heads for the coffee machine, already finished thanks to the timer she sets every night. Pouring a cup, she grabs a bowl and her muesli before joining me at the table.

"I didn't hear you come in last night," she begins - and it's clear by how she says it that she's only just beginning - while adding milk to her coffee. I glance up to see her watching me closely.

"I wasn't out that late. Just didn't want to wake you."

"Did you have a nice walk?"

The back of my neck prickles. Oh god, does she _know_? No, she can't know. How could she know? She doesn't know.

But what if she does? Maybe it's her Mom superpowers firing up.

Meeting her gaze, I smile. "Yeah, it was fine."

She nods, a soft smile of her own appearing on her face.

Oh god. She _knows_.

"Edward's a nice boy."

I shovel another spoon of cereal into my mouth. "Mhmm."

One of her eyebrows rises infinitesimally higher than the other, and her smile turns into more of a Mom-smirk. "He's cute, too."

"I don't think you're supposed to think that," I mumble through my cereal, trying to distract her from the fact that I've immediately started blushing.

"I'm just making an observation." Her eyes roam my face meaningfully. Fuck. "If you're going to take walks with boys, Edward's a good choice."

"Uh-huh," I say, shovelling cereal faster. I need to get out of this kitchen.

"You know," she says, "if you ever want to… talk about stuff, you can come to me. Whether it's about boys in general, or just Edwar—"

"Mom," I say, stopping her. My face is literally going to melt off. "Thanks, for the offer, but I'm okay. Okay? No need to talk about this. Ever."

I get up, bringing my bowl over to the sink.

"If you have any questions about _walks_ at all, then ju—"

" _Mom_ ," I repeat, leaving it at that as I escape the kitchen.

I hear her laughing to herself. "Have a good day at school, honey," she calls as I run up the stairs.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

Edward looks so good this morning. He always looks good, but today, in particular, he looks extra good. His jeans are dark, his t-shirt is grey, and his plaid shirt is deep red and black. It's rolled up to his elbows, and I can't stop staring at his wrist.

He sits two rows up and one to the right of me in English. His left hand cradles his head as he writes, and the lights overhead glimmer against the dark auburn hairs on his arm.

Time has never moved this slow.

When the bell finally rings, I'm out of my seat like a shot. I steal away from the lunch room a few minutes later, stuffing a sandwich into my bag.

About five minutes before the first class of the day started, I got a text from Edward, asking if I wanted to have lunch with him. ' **Maybe in the library or something?** ' he'd suggested, without any prompting from me. Maybe he just wants to talk in private, but a part of me really hopes it's because we'll do more than talk.

Which admittedly, we didn't do much of last night. We didn't even kiss again, just sort of hung out for a bit, holding hands on the swings before heading home in easy silence. I guess we do need to talk, about what's happening and what we're doing, but all I really want is to skip over all that and jump straight to kissing.

The front desk is empty when I arrive. I can hear Mrs. Cope on the phone at her other desk, her voice floating through the doorway to the Principal's office.

I head to the back of the room, to the poorly lit corner where the tables are wobbly and the books are dusty and unused. It's my favorite hiding-place.

Forks High library is remarkably silent, even for a library. Mostly because it's connected to the Principal's office, but also because the school finally invested in a new computer lab – no one uses outdated books when Google's available.

I nibble on my lunch as I wait for Edward. I've started in on my brownie when I can finally hear footfalls across the carpet. I glance up just as he appears around the shelf, cautious at first, but then relaxing when he sees me.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late."

"Don't worry about it," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear.

He's somewhat shy in his approach, dropping his bag on the floor before he pulls out a chair next to me. The image of his face lighting up when I told him I liked him too flashes back to me, and I have to inhale slowly to tame the avalanche of butterflies that floods my stomach.

Butterflies and stars, and unending universes. That's how he makes me feel.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asks, pulling a bottle of lemonade out of his bag.

"No," I lie. "You're not eating?"

He shakes his head, cracking the cap. "No, I already ate. I told the guys I had an 'important call to make' so I could get away. They'd just be asking too many questions if I left with my lunch. Or they'd try to come with me." He laughs, shaking his head. "I've never eaten a burger that fast before."

I snort, picking at my brownie. "I bet you looked funny."

"Probably," he says, shrugging. He eyes my brownie. "Can I have some?"

I smile and push it towards him. "Wanna make some after school?"

"Brownies? God, yes." He licks his fingers and frowns. "Is this all you're eating?"

"No, I've had a sandwich already."

"Okay, cool."

I nod, pressing my lips together. He smiles and takes a sip of his lemonade, leg bouncing under the table. Seconds pass, and he starts spinning the bottle cap on the table.

I wait. He waits.

The universe expands.

"This is awkward," I say, and he fumbles the cap, making it tumble to the floor.

We both laugh, and he bends to pick it up.

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry. I'm not trying to be weird or anything."

"Me neither."

He brushes some lint off the cap and puts it back on the table. His eyes lift to meet mine, and the worry I see there must be reflecting back at him from my own. "We're okay, right? After last night. You're not… I mean, we're still— you still… God, I don't even know what I'm saying," he laughs, pushing a hand through his hair. My heart melts, taking some of the worry away. "I, uh… I'll put it this way: I'm happy."

His countenance is so shy, making me admire his bravery in taking the first leap even more.

"I'm happy, too," I say, reaching across the table for the cap. His hand is right next to it, but I need to work my way up to that.

He looks at my hand, so close to his. "So we're both happy. About last night. And… stuff."

"Seems like it." I look at his hand, so close to mine.

"Okay. Good. Then I'll put it this way: I wouldn't mind if it… happened. Again."

Swooping stars and endless universes. Jesus christ.

"I'd like that," I say, quietly. I reach out a finger and touch the back of his hand. He inhales slowly. I trace the veins under his skin.

My heart is thumping by the time I can feel his breath on my chin. I close my eyes, and the soft brush of his lips abruptly has me fighting a smile. Edward is _kissing me_.

Then he slants his mouth over mine, and I lean out of my seat, wanting to be closer. Why did no one tell me kissing was this great?

It's so easy to follow his lead. I don't know what I'm doing, not really, but with his lips against mine, I don't care. Maybe not knowing what I'm doing is a good thing. It feels like a good thing.

We kiss for a long time. I touch his face, and his hair, his shoulders. I shiver when he cups the back of my head, the other arm winding around my back so he can pull me closer. God, he smells so good. It's all I can think about. Everything outside of this just isn't important.

When we do eventually stop, his face is pressed against mine, my fingers tangled in his hair. He kisses the corner of my mouth, my cheek, and I can barely breathe. My lips will carry the memory of Edward Cullen's all day.

Putting some space between us, he slowly leans back and drops his hands as I drop mine. Weaving our fingers together, he holds on, relief and happiness slumping the line of his shoulders.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?"

"Do what?"

He laughs quietly down his nose. "Kiss you."

Blushing furiously, I shake my head.

"A long while," he says, watching me closely. My heart trips over itself.

"Will you be making up for lost time, then?"

He smiles, tugging at my fingers. "If I can."

I tug right back. "You can. Whenever you want," I promise, foolishly, bravely.

"Whenever I want?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. He looks pointedly around the room, efficiently pointing out that 'whenever' by default also means _where_ ver, which has a lot of implications for us.

I half-shrug, tilting my head in acknowledgement. "Within reason."

Tapping this thumb against mine, his face turns contemplative. "I guess we probably need to talk about that."

About us. About school. About us at school, and whatever else comes with that.

"I guess so."

He checks the time on his phone and sighs. "It'll have to be later, though. Gym starts in ten."

I groan and collapse into my chair. I hate Gym. He squeezes my knee with his hand.

"Come on, it's not that bad."

"Says you," I grumble. "Not everyone's a natural at sports, you know."

"Well, you're better at everything else, so we're even," he says, raising my arm to kiss my wrist. "Besides, I think you look nice in your gym-shorts, remember?"

I hide my face in my hands, trying to deny him the satisfaction of knowing how hard I'm blushing right now. "Yeah, I remember."

He kisses the top of my head. "See you in class."

I wait for a few minutes, to make sure no one sees us.

It's a mixed blessing to arrive and find the locker room empty. Good, because then no one's around to watch me change, but also bad, because it means that everyone is already out in the Gym, which in turn means all of them might stare at me when I walk out.

I hurry to change; if I'm late on top of it, people will just stare at me more.

I quickly check my face in the mirror before I leave – slightly flushed, but hopefully no one will suspect anything. And what could they possibly suspect? That Bella Swan was making out with Edward Cullen in the library? Yeah, right.

I laugh at myself, but then abruptly stop. I blink at my reflection.

Jesus, I make out with Edward Cullen in the library now. That's my life. That's me.

The shock on my face is pretty funny. I crack a smile.

Wow. I sneak away to secret hiding-places to make out with a boy now?

Hell yeah, I do.

* * *

 **You guys are absolutely amazing people. Thank you so much for still wanting to read about these two. Hope you enjoyed it.**

 **Until next time xx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

 **11 October 2011**

I quietly slip out the locker room door, glancing around. Class hasn't started yet; everyone is standing around in loose groups, some resting on the bleachers. Only a few people let their eyes sweep over me, barely acknowledging my presence. Thank god.

I spot Angela and head towards her, smiling when she sees me coming.

"Hey," she says quietly. "I was wondering where you were."

"Yeah, I— I lost track of time. I was reading," I murmur back, unexpectedly reluctant to lie. I kind of want to shout the truth from the rooftops — maybe then it will actually start feeling _real_.

Edward's horsing around with Emmett further down the court, dribbling a basketball they've liberated from the equipment shed. There's something giddy about the way he's smiling, and the idea that this might have something to do with me and what we were doing not twenty minutes ago sends me tailspinning.

"Lucky you weren't late," Angela laughs, just as Coach comes out of his office. I tear my attention away from Edward with some effort.

After taking our attendance, and leading us through the usual warm-up (two laps around the court and a few half-hearted jumping jacks), Coach gathers us round.

"Right," he says, clipboard gripped in both hands. "For the next couple of weeks, we're going to be playing badminton."

A collective groan rises from the basketball team, while I close my eyes in brief thanks. Badminton I can cope with. Of all the undignified things you can be forced to do in Gym class, badminton is the most forgiving of the bunch.

"No whining," Coach says, throwing looks at the boys. "We're playing mixed doubles, in a tournament. At the end of these two weeks, we'll have finals. The winning team doesn't have to go for a five-mile run. Outside."

We stare back at him in silence. Above us, rain hammers heavily on the roof, the sound a particularly evil omen. A promise of what awaits the losers.

My feelings of thanks are definitely a little less now.

Coach stares right back at us. When no one moves, he makes a shoo-ing gesture with his clipboard. "Come on. Mixed doubles. Pair up."

Anxious activity breaks out all around me. With the stakes so high, finding the right partner becomes vital. Angela throws me a rueful look before hurrying across to stand by Ben, who takes her hand with obvious relief.

I'm left stranded by myself as the rest of my classmates scurry. No one so much as looks at me — I'm clearly not a popular option.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Throwing my eyes around in mounting panic, they snag on Garrett, standing equally as stranded on the other side of the group. His despair at this turn of events looks just as severe as mine feels.

I don't really want to pair up with Garrett. He's nice and everything, and being on the chess club with me means I count him as a friend, but he's scrawny and uncoordinated beyond belief. I don't want to go for a five-mile run outside in the middle of October, and if I pair up with Garrett, that's exactly what's going to happen.

Our eyes meet for half a second before his snap to look at something over my shoulder. At the same moment, someone touches my elbow.

Startled, I whip around and come face to face with Edward. He's lost the giddiness from before; his expression now is uncertain, and carefully hopeful.

"You, uh… you free?" he asks.

Heart galloping, I stare at him for a few seconds. What?

"What?"

His uncertainty visibly grows. He looks back and forth between my eyes. "Uhm. To play. Do you want to?"

"No, I— Not that," I mutter; furtively looking over my shoulder at the rest of the class, I relax a bit to see them all still moving around, shouting over each other as they try to negotiate. No one's noticed us yet. I shift slightly, turning my back on them. "You're seriously asking me?"

"I am." Copying my furtive glance, he gives our classmates one of his own. Lowering his voice, he says, "Trust me, okay? I have a plan."

"A plan?"

Confidence returning now, he loosens his stance somewhat. "Yeah."

"What kind of plan?"

"Well, I only came up with it about twenty seconds ago, so the details are a little hazy," he says, grinning at my widening eyes. "But it's a good one. I'll tell you after school."

"Tell me now."

"Team up with me first," he counters immediately. "I mean, you kind of have to."

"What? Why?" I say, irrationally indignant at being told what to do even though the thing he's telling me to do is exactly what I want more than anything.

"Because there's no one else left and it would be really embarrassing if you said no."

With that, I realize the shouting has died down to a much quieter drone. Negotiations seem to have come to an end. My back straightens as I sense curious eyes turning our way, and Edward looks at them over the top of my head for a second.

He returns his attention to me. "I'm going to take your silence as a 'yes'."

I blink, fighting the urge to turn around and see if everyone's staring as much as I think they are. "Okay."

He fully relaxes now, casually crossing his arms as he smiles. "Cool."

I have no idea what just happened. What is he up to?

Our classmates aren't the only ones to raise eyebrows; when Coach goes around making notes of all the teams, he stops in front of us with visible surprise. He looks at me, then at Edward. Then slowly back at me.

Such astounding professionalism.

"Cullen and… Swan," he says, pausing slightly before jotting down our names. The rest of the class watches on, eyebrows jumping all over the place. I bristle, feeling both insulted and embarrassed, which combine to make me feel a little pissed off.

I know what they're all thinking. Either that I was everyone's last choice, and Edward ended up with me by default, or that he chose me out of pity. Neither is particularly flattering.

Edward doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he's pretending not to care. His earlier giddiness has returned now, and when Coach sends us to pick our equipment, he spends a couple of minutes helping me find a good racket, having me test a few for weight-balance before finding the perfect one. Then he unearths a fresh pack of balls from a secret cupboard he somehow knows about, handing me the plastic tube with a wink.

Oh, wait. Not balls. Shuttlecocks.

Jesus christ.

Coach takes a few minutes to explain the proper rules for mixed doubles, and makes us practice a few serves and swings. At one point, Edward reaches over and adjusts my grip, murmuring as he tells me something about the advantages of blah blah blah and whatever — I'm really not listening, because he's standing close enough that my arm could easily brush against his chest if I just moved it the right way.

I avoid everyone's eyes. If my expression is anything like I think it might be, I don't want to know if anyone's noticed.

I take an even breath, trying to tame my pulse into something a little less likely to induce lightheadedness.

He's not acting _exactly_ like when we're alone, but it's close enough. An outlined version of how he behaves around me when no one else can see. I realize quite suddenly this might be the source of his giddiness. He's wanted to be free around me, to not have to pretend so hard, for ages, and now he finally has a chance. Now he finally has a reason to acknowledge me in front of other people.

I risk a glance at his face. He's smiling, like he almost always does, but this one is different, somehow. Relieved. Secretive and happy. Or happily secretive.

My heart trips and stumbles, and it almost _hurts_ , this feeling: to be so happy that someone else is happy.

Rather than start any games with so little time left, Coach has each pair practising their serves and swings against each other, and for the first time ever, Gym actually isn't that bad. It's almost fun. Edward gives me a few pointers, but by the end of class, he looks kind of impressed.

As mostly everyone drops their rackets in a pile and head for the locker rooms, Edward comes over, fingers playing with the strings of his.

"You have a really good serve, you know," he says. "We might actually win this thing."

"We better," I say, my high from his praise and possibly being the source of his happiness enough to make me reckless; I don't want to treat him like Edward Cullen: classmate. I want to treat him like Edward Cullen: friend.

I want to treat him like Edward: _more_.

"I'm counting on you to get me out of that run."

"You're using me? Seems mean," he says, grabbing the cart all the rackets are supposed to go in. He rolls it over, and together we start putting them away.

"Maybe," I say with a shrug. Reckless-born bravery has me continuing, in a murmur, "Somehow I don't think you mind."

He pauses, an eyebrow raised at my tone. I meet his gaze evenly, smiling ever so slightly, and he can't seem to help himself — he grins back, the tiniest bit of color tingeing his cheeks.

Dropping the last of the rackets into the cart, I say, "See you after school," and leave him standing there.

I basically float into the locker room, airborne by happiness. When I approach the row of my locker, though, a murmur of voices makes me pause. I press closer to the end of the row, staying hidden.

"… just sucks," Lauren says, shutting her locker with a bang. "I was going to ask him, but when I turn around, he's talking to _her_ , of all people. I don't get it."

Jessica answers her. "What? Bella's… fine. I guess." Her voice is hesitant, but not in describing me as 'fine' — she sounds hesitant in finding a word to describe me at all.

My chest grows tight. I strain to hear over the showers running at the far end of the room. I don't want to listen, don't want to hear. But I _need_ to.

"I mean, yeah, exactly. She's fine. End of, you know? I don't think I've ever seen her smile. Edward's going to be so bored."

"She's not that bad…" Jessica again, but Lauren just scoffs.

"Come on. She's boring."

My happiness sinks like a bag of bricks in the ocean, and my heart hammers in my throat. I'm boring?

Another locker shuts with a bang, and as their voices drift away towards the showers, Rosalie says with clear disinterest, "Who even cares? You're just pissed you're stuck with Garrett for two weeks. At least she's not as weird as he is."

Jessica's laugh is quickly drowned out, mixing in with the echoing sounds coming from the showers.

I lean against the wall, staring unblinkingly ahead.

So that's how everyone sees me.

Well, fuck.

I move robotically through taking a shower and getting dressed. Their words play in loops in my head, snagging every now and then on the specifics. Boring. Fine.

End of.

But in between all that, I also bring up Edward's face, to remind myself that he knows me better than Lauren and Jessica and Rosalie. He knows me, and he wants to be my friend. He wants to be my… more.

He doesn't think I'm boring.

 _Everyone else thinks you're boring._

If he does think I'm weird, he still likes me for it.

 _Everyone else just thinks you're less weird than Garrett_.

He _chose_ to partner up with me for two weeks.

 _And no one gets why._

The fight between these two arguments continues through Government, where we're luckily just watching some documentary. I don't pay attention.

Edward likes me. No one else does.

What the hell do I do with that?

I leave school in a bit of a daze, and when I finally get up to my room, I dump my bag on the floor and sit down on my bed. Everything is mixed up in my head, this new knowledge of how I come across to the rest of the school twisting itself into the knowledge that Edward doesn't see me that way.

I'm not an idiot. I know the perception people have of me is self-inflicted. I've chosen to not let anyone get to know the real me, so I'm in no position to complain when they make up their minds without my input.

But it still hurts.

I know I have two choices here — I can either force myself to ignore the whole thing, and continue on with my life as if this never happened. Or, I can do something about it.

Neither sound great. They both sound really hard.

I might have to flip a coin.

My phone chimes in my bag before I get a chance. I get changed and then head down the stairs and out through the back door, walking steadily towards the forest and Edward on the other side of it.

I don't know what to do.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

"Why am I giving the chocolate a bath?"

I straighten and turn to look at him. He stands by the stove, studying the recipe like it holds the instructions to defusing a bomb.

"What?"

"'Put the chocolate in a water bath.' By the way, I question having to qualify it as a _water_ bath. I'd get it if it wasn't water. Like a mud bath. That'd need a qualifier. But if it just says 'bath', I'm going to assume I should use water."

I stare at him. He looks up from the paper, eyes widening at my expression.

"What?"

"Why would they be talking about mud baths in a brownie recipe?"

"Well, I don't know. I didn't write it."

"'Put it in a water bath' means that you melt the chocolate in a bowl over hot water," I say, choosing to ignore him. I grab everything we need from the pantry and close the door with my foot.

He looks back and forth between me and the recipe, eyebrows drawing closer and closer together.

"You seem worried."

He opens his mouth a few times before thrusting the paper at me. "I think you should do it."

"You said you wanted to help." I dump everything on the counter and lean against it. He steps closer and waves the paper at my face.

"I'll screw it up. I don't even know what a whisk attachment is."

I roll my eyes and take the recipe. "It doesn't say anything about whisk attachments; you mix this together by hand."

He pokes the bag of flour instead of responding.

"Just do what I tell you, and it'll be fine. You need to learn how to cook, anyway. How are you going to feed yourself when you've moved out of here?"

"I can feed myself," he says defensively. "It's really easy. I pick up my phone and go 'Yeah, hi, I'd like to order a large pepperoni with extra cheese. Thanks.'" He spreads his arms out, triumphant. "See?"

"You can't live on pizza all the time. It's not healthy."

"Oh, and teaching me how to make brownies is?"

"You're thinking about this the wrong way. Making brownies is just the first step."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Just wait. Soon you'll be able to cook rice all on your own."

Widening his eyes, he steps closer. "No way."

"Yes way. And maybe boil some potatoes."

" _Wow_."

"Yeah. And I don't want you to get too excited, but you might even know how to heat up a can of soup."

"That's amazing."

"I know."

"All this knowledge in your brain," he says, grabbing my head and staring at it. "How does it all fit?"

"Paper clips. Keeps everything organised."

"Mm, makes sense," he mumbles. He stares at my forehead for another few seconds, before dropping his gaze to mine. He breaks out in a grin, and I laugh at him.

"We should play Trivial Pursuit," he says, moving his hands from my head to my hips.

Which is a totally normal thing for your best-friend-but-more type person to do. Totally normal.

"Should we?" I don't know what to do with my hands. I place them on his arms for lack of any better ideas.

Turns out I'm a genius. Edward has great arms.

"Yeah. As a team. All that organised knowledge? We can't lose."

"Who are we playing against?"

"Alice. It'll piss her off."

"Why?"

"She hates losing," he says, shrugging. He leans in and kisses me quickly, just the briefest press of his lips on mine. My toes curl up in my socks with surprise and delight.

I can't believe how easy this is. Doing stuff like this with him just twenty-four hours ago would've been impossible, and now it feels so natural I don't understand why we haven't been doing it all along.

"Doesn't seem like a nice way to treat your sister," I say, impressed with myself for managing to keep an even tone.

"So? She's my sister – I'm not supposed to be nice."

I skeptically narrow my eyes.

"It's true. I can be as mean as I want, and she still has to love me. It's a pretty sweet deal. Don't look at me like that."

"Do these same rules apply to you, though?"

"Well, she did push it that one time when we were nine and she opened my collectible Iron Man figure so she could marry him off to her Barbie, but other than that, yeah."

I roll my eyes, but he just squeezes one hand on my hip before letting go and heading for the fridge.

"So, Alice…" I say, nodding when he holds up a soda. "Does she know? Have you told her?"

"Told her what?"

"About…" I awkwardly gesture between us.

He slowly hands me a soda, studying me for a moment. "Not yet. I mean, she knows I like you, but I haven't told her about last night."

My heart warms at how casual he is when he says he likes me.

"Why not?"

He shrugs. "Hasn't come up yet. Why? Do you not want me to tell her?"

"No, it's not that," I say, shaking my head. "You can tell her. I think Mom kind of knows, so…"

"You told your mom?" For some reason, this makes him smile.

I tell him what happened at breakfast, and his grin spreads.

"Don't look at me like that," I say, punching his arm lightly. "Come on, are you going to help me with these brownies or not?"

He sighs, but rounds the counter anyway.

Later, as I watch him scrape batter out of the bowl, I almost manage to forget what I overheard in the locker room earlier. It still sits at the back of my mind, but it's muted now. Edward makes everything a little better, a little easier.

Something's brewing in my head, though, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is. It feels like I've blanked on a word I use all the time, like my own mother's name sits on the tip of my tongue as I stutter. It's a realization I clearly need to have, but it's not coming to me.

I have to get all the bits and pieces into the right order, and maybe, once they all fall into place, I'll know which way to go. Heads or tails. Safe or brave. Stay the same, or throw myself into the unknown.

Edward turns to me, spatula halfway to his mouth. "Oven?" he asks, pointing at the filled baking tray as he starts licking the batter off the spatula.

"Yes please," I laugh.

"Here, you have that," he says, nudging the bowl in my direction, before taking the tray over to the oven. He takes a step back when he opens it, heat billowing out at him, and I don't know why I find it absolutely adorable, but I do.

Everything he does is suddenly adorable.

My unrealized realization shuffles to the back of my mind, aware it's been dismissed for now.

I think I'll worry about it later.

* * *

 **Hey, guys. Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter - I was on holiday in Florida, basking/melting in the sun.**

 **Thank you so much for reading. I hope you're still enjoying it.**

 **Until next time xx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

 **11 October 2011**

"Can we eat these yet?" I ask, pointing at the brownie tray.

Bella looks up from the sink, water and suds up to her wrists. I tried to tell her she didn't have to wash up, but she just looked at me, exasperated. Then I tried to help, but quickly received an eyeroll and a light command to go away. That's when I tickled her and got an elbow in the ribs.

I let her wash up in peace after that.

She flips her head, trying to get a strand of hair out of her face. "I think it's too warm, still." The strand falls right back to where it was before, and she tries to blow it away with a huff.

Trying not to grin too much, I step closer and smooth it behind her ear. She looks up at me, surprise quickly giving way to a blushing sort of shyness.

"Thanks."

"No problem," I say, dropping my hand, flexing my fingers as the touch lingers. "And, as it so happens, I like too warm brownies. In fact, I prefer them."

"Oh?" Her quirked eyebrow suggests she doesn't believe me.

"Yeah."

She glances over her shoulder again, lips slightly pursed. "Five more minutes."

She rinses off the bowl she's been washing before balancing it on the drying rack. As she wipes her hands, I study the strand of hair, curling against her jaw. I want to kiss her.

I can't believe I can finally kiss her.

"When will your family be home?" she asks, and my pulse trips over itself. Is she reading my mind?

"I don't know, in an hour maybe? Why?"

"No, just wondering. We could leave some brownies for them."

I elegantly "Psh."

"What, you're going to eat that entire tray by yourself?" There's that eyebrow again. I should tease her about that.

"You can have a piece."

"Gee, thanks," she mutters, but she pokes my stomach with a smile as she passes. I almost grab her wrist and pull her back. Because I can do that now. She takes a seat on one of the bar stools, resting her chin in her palm. I stand opposite her, arms crossed loosely over my chest.

"So what do we do now, if we're not having brownies?" I ask. I mean, I know what I want to do — the same thing I've been wanting to do every day for the last six months. Especially now, when we're not outside, or hiding in a library. We're in my house. Alone.

Bella's in my house, and we're alone. How many times have I imagined this exact scenario?

She shrugs. "You can tell me about this plan of yours."

I stare at her, uncomprehending.

Both eyebrows go up now, an uncertain bend to them. "From… Gym? You said you had a plan."

 _Oh_. "Oh. Right, yeah." I laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face. "I, uh, I didn't actually have a plan. At the time."

She blinks at me. "What?"

I lean forwards over the counter, reaching out to touch the back of her hand. She turns her eyes down to watch as I trace the veins under her skin, copying her move from earlier today.

"I just wanted to team up with you," I admit, shrugging.

"Oh," she says, quietly. Her expression doesn't change very much. Uncertainty dews in my stomach, and I still my fingers.

She always manages to do this to me; I'll get to a point where I think I can read her every mood and feeling, just from the way her face changes, or the smallest inflection in her voice. But then she throws a curveball out of nowhere, and I'm left scrambling to catch up and not look like an idiot.

I tell myself it drives me nuts, but in all honesty, it's one of my favorite things about her.

"Is that okay? It was fine, right? I mean, people didn't seem to care very much."

Something passes over her face, a small crease forming and then smoothing out between her eyebrows. Curveball. She takes a small breath and looks up from our hands. "You think so?"

"Yeah," I say, injecting more confidence than I actually have on the subject. "It was fine."

She chews a bit on her lip, but her shrug this time is less uncertain and more conceding. I find myself smiling, and she narrows her eyes.

"Don't be smug," she tells me, her own lips twitching. She reaches out and pinches the skin on my wrist.

I move it away, grabbing her hand and twisting our fingers together instead. "I'm not smug. I'm never smug. I don't even know what that means."

She laughs on a single breath, seemingly despite herself. "Don't."

"Don't what?" I tug on her hand, pulling her closer over the counter.

"You're impossible," she says, and I don't really know what she's talking about, but she seems happy, so I don't care.

I bend closer, kissing her. I feel it in more than my lips. Even more so when I move back and she's looking at me, brown eyes deep and sparkling.

I lean my hips against the counter.

If I'm impossible, it's only because she makes me that way.

"I do have a plan now, though," I say, and some sense and reason seems to return to her face. Her eyebrows rise, posing a gentle question. I wonder if she knows how much she speaks through her eyebrows. I doubt it; she'd probably grow long bangs if she did.

I open my mouth to tell her what I have in mind — how we can use this Gym partner thing as a way to become friends in public, gently introducing the school to the idea of us as _more_ — when I realize I actually have no idea if that's what she wants at all.

I'm making assumptions. What if she doesn't think of us as 'more' now? Just because we've kissed and we like each other, it doesn't mean we're together. Not technically. And god knows what her thought process has been about the entire thing.

I want us to be together. Officially. I want people to know what claim she has on me, and I want her to know it, too. But maybe she's thinking we'll just make the kissing and the hand-holding a part of what we already have, and change nothing else.

Not that kissing in the tree-house doesn't sound great, but I want more than that.

I cast my eyes down. How do I bring this up without freaking her out?

"What?" she asks, after a moment. "What's your plan?"

I take a deep breath, and then tell her in broad strokes what we might be able to do. When I glance up at her, her eyes are unreadable. "If you want," I finish, a nervous sort of skittering taking residence just below my breastbone.

She takes a moment to mull it over. She doesn't look completely horrified. Yet.

"So, like, by next week, you might say hi to me when we pass each other in the hallway or whatever?" she asks, and the skittering foolishly reveals itself to be hope.

I swallow it down as best I can. "Yeah, something like that."

"And then what do we do?" She looks genuinely curious, if hesitant and sceptical, but it's more than I ever thought I'd get out of her so quickly. It usually takes her a few hours, if not days, to get to this point.

I level my voice, trying not to sound too excited. "Then… I don't know. Maybe you'll say hi back. And the next day, I'll stop and talk to you for a minute before class." I watch her closely, and she slowly starts to lose some of the scepticism. Is she actually considering this? "We can do that for a while. Then we could have lunch together. Or something. And, eventually, maybe we… go on a date?"

Her shoulders pull up a little, but she doesn't close down. She looks conflicted, as if torn between two responses. I don't have to be a mindreader to know what those responses might be. I'm only surprised she's torn between them.

"It's your choice," I say, which I realize too late isn't what she needed to hear — she looks at me with sudden worry, a troubled bend to her lips and a furrowed brow following suit. I'm such an idiot. I can't talk about wanting to be together and then dump the decision on her shoulders alone. "I mean. I just… I know what I want. _You_ know what I want," I say, smiling self-deprecatingly. "And I won't push you. So… whatever you want. I'm fine with either. You can even flip a coin, if it makes you feel better," I joke.

She glances up sharply at that. I have no idea what I've said that's making her react, but whatever it is, it's drained some of the worry from her face. She studies me closely, something suspiciously like determination growing behind her eyes.

"And, what? Heads we keep it secret, tails we don't?"

I half-shrug, unable to keep a small grin off my face. A loosely constructed joke about being happy with either head or tail forms unbidden in my head, and I discard it before it can escape.

I'm awful.

She absentmindedly rubs her thumb along mine as she looks at me, thinking. I wait, as patiently as I can.

After a moment, she takes a deep breath, and it's only now, in retrospect, that I realize I saw the exact moment she came to her conclusion — the look in her eye has changed, a steelier resolve taking shape there.

"I think… we could try," she says, and it's another curveball, straight to my head.

I blink at her, disoriented. Is she serious? "Really?"

"Yeah."

I can barely hold back a smile. "Seriously?"

She laughs, very clearly at me, not with me. "Yes. Being secret friends is one thing, but now… It— I mean, we're… you know." She trails off, a tell-tale blush pinkening her cheeks.

More? Is that what's she's thinking?

"I know," I tell her, squeezing her fingers, and she glances at me through her lashes. Understanding passes between us.

I move around the counter until I'm right next to her — I have to. She swivels her chair to face me, and her smile goes from shy to pleased. Everything in my chest clenches. I would do almost anything to draw a smile like this from her.

Lowering my head, she raises hers, until we're forehead to forehead. I can only just see her eyes, even if she's so close they're just a blur. The tip of her nose slides along mine until our lips brush together, and I can feel her smile. She kisses me slowly, sweet and warm.

My stomach jolts, and I slip a hand up her neck, cupping the back of her head. Her hair is soft under my fingers, and I think I could keep kissing her forever. I can't believe this is my reality now.

Her quiet exhale pulls me closer, and her knees part to either side of my hips.

Her hands become more adventurous, sliding up and down my sides and across my back in slow strokes. I let mine do the same. I explore the curve of her shoulders, the softness of the skin I can reach, the dip right before her waist becomes her hip. Her ribs expand under my hands when I pull her lip in between my own in a soft bite.

She kisses me a bit more ambitiously than before. My pulse picks up, and it gets difficult to breathe evenly. Her fingers find their way into my hair, and the tight tug draws a groan from my throat. She presses closer, knees tightening around my hips.

A dim crinkling sound knocks against my brain, but my reactions are so sluggish I've barely even acknowledged it when its source barrels into the kitchen.

"Hey, Ed— Oh, hey, whoa, whoa!"

My eyes fly open as Bella twists in my grasp, and we both look toward the door. Alice stands there, staring at us with her arms full of brown paper bags. A leek sticks out of one, almost poking her in the eye.

Oh, shit.

Before I can move, Mom appears behind her, glancing up from her phone just in time to see me snatching my hands away from Bella's torso.

Alice's mouth hangs open. Mom blinks, looking back and forth between us.

Bella drops her arms from around my neck with a small gasp, and I step back, a nervous laugh trying to force its way up my throat. I push against it, and it comes out like a strangled grunt.

A choked cry for help.

Mom's lips twitch. Shit.

She hits the light-switch before taking a few tentative steps into the kitchen. Her eyes stay trained on Bella. "Hi, sweetie," she says, like everything is just normal and fine. "This is a pleasant surprise." She pauses, glancing at me, then back at Bella. "How are you? I haven't seen you around for a while."

I glance at Bella, too, and become slightly alarmed. I don't think I've ever seen her face so red before.

"Uhm. Hi. Mrs Cullen," she croaks, stumbling slightly as she slips off the stool onto her feet. "I'm fine. Thank you."

"We just met your mom at the store. Didn't we, Alice?" Mom turns to my sister, who nods. Once Mom turns away, Alice glances at me and breaks out in a diabolical grin.

My stomach drops. _Shit_.

"Oh," Bella says weakly.

"You're home early," I blurt. I don't know why. I can see the time on the microwave just behind Mom's head. They're not home early.

I'm an idiot.

"It's almost six o'clock, Edward," Mom points out. She walks over to the kitchen counter, placing the grocery bags down. "I didn't realize you two were…" She trails off and then gestures with her finger between us, smiling serenely.

Alice gleefully watches on.

I glance at Bella just as she glances at me. Her eyes seem to be begging me to get us out of this.

"It's, uh… It's recent."

"Oh." Mom smiles, clearly aware there's more to it than that, but thankfully she drops it. "Are you staying for dinner, Bella? I'm making spaghetti."

"Oh, uhm…" Bella stutters, and I turn to look at her, giving her a reassuring smile. I try to keep as much hopefulness out of it as possible — I don't want to pressure her into saying yes, but I know she won't unless she gets a sign from me that I would like her to stay.

And I would like her to stay. Even if dinner is going to be awkward after what Mom and Alice walked in on, I don't want her to leave yet.

She holds my gaze for a moment before turning back to Mom. "Sure, that'd be— Uhm, thank you."

"Great!" Mom looks delighted. "Just let your mom know you're staying here. Edward, honey, help your sister unpack the groceries, please. I'll get the rest of the bags from the car."

She leaves, and silence descends over the kitchen.

I throw a warning glare at Alice. She smirks, and waltzes towards us.

"Well, well, well…" she says, putting her bags down on the counter.

I glare harder. "Shut up, Alice."

"What?" she laughs. "I didn't say anything."

"And it's going to stay that way," I say, reaching for the bag closest to me. I pull out a pack of the yoghurts only Mom ever eats.

"Don't be such a baby. Are you seriously telling me you wouldn't say anything if this had happened with me and Jasper?"

"It did happen with you and Jasper," I say, and her smirk falls away immediately. I turn to Bella. "He fell out of her bedroom window trying to sneak out one time when Mom came home early from work. Sprained his ankle."

Bella looks slightly stunned. Alice's mouth drops open for a second in outrage before she closes it.

"Jerk," she mutters. To Bella, she says, "It wasn't that bad."

"Not that bad? Dad made him stay for dinner so he could 'keep an eye on it.' How long did it take Jazz to come back here? Three months?" It's my turn to smirk now, and Alice pinches her mouth shut in an obvious effort not to yell at me in front of Bella.

"Again: jerk. And all you're doing is proving I've had to endure way worse teasing from you, so you should give me this one," she says, gesturing with her finger between us.

"What, like the trauma I sustained from one of my best friends falling out of my sister's bedroom doesn't mean you owe me for the rest of your life?"

Alice stares at me, and then slaps at my arm with the leek in her hand. "Don't be such a turd."

"Grow up."

"You grow up."

"No, I meant physically. Stop being so short."

"Careful not to hit your head on the ceiling, you flagpole. Don't want to lose the last of your braincells."

I grab the yoghurt and the milk and head for the fridge. "I'd still have more left than you."

"Asshole," she says.

Bella stares at us. I wonder if she regrets agreeing to stay for dinner yet.

Once all the groceries have been put away, and Alice has discovered we made brownies — "Oh my god, I think I might be in love with you, Bella" — we head for the living room while Mom starts cooking. I take Bella's hand and pull her down next to me on the couch. Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn't really stop smiling after that, even when she's talking to Alice or texting her mom to let her know she's staying here.

Maybe if Alice hadn't seen us kissing, I wouldn't behave so openly. We'd probably pretend we're still just friends. But it feels so nice to not have to. I'm tired of pretending my feelings for Bella aren't there, and having Alice know is like a huge weight off my shoulders.

I feel like I can do anything.

When Bella goes to the bathroom, Alice turns to me.

"You're freaking adorable," she says.

I don't know if she means me specifically, or me and Bella, but it doesn't really matter. I laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face. "Thanks."

"Is this why you went for a walk yesterday? To see Bella?"

"Yeah. Picked her up at her house."

Alice leans her chin on her palm. "And you told her?"

"It kind of slipped out." I grin; I can't help it. I still can't really believe I finally grew the balls to tell her. "Turns out she likes me, too."

"I told you. It was so obvious." Alice's smile is indulgent. "But even if it hadn't been, I could've guessed from walking in on you guys sucking face."

I snort, leaning my head back against the couch. "Speaking of which, could you keep that to yourself? We're not really… It's kinda—"

Alice arches an eyebrow. "Secret?"

"Yeah," I sigh. Not with resignation, like I would've before. With a smile, this time. "We've talked about it and stuff, and she's okay with making things more public, but it's going to take a while."

She nods. "Okay. I wasn't going to tell anyone anyway, but I get it."

I dip my chin down slightly as I give her a look. "You can tell Jasper."

She flashes her phone. "Already did. Sorry," she says, sounding not sorry at all. "He's under oath, though, so he won't say anything either. Obviously."

I snort, once again, but then reach my fist out. "Thanks, Al."

She bumps it, and then we explode our hands, both making a quiet bomb noise. We've been doing it since we were seven. I have no idea why.

When Bella comes back and sits down next to me, her thigh brushing mine, I don't have to suppress the urge to drape my arm over her shoulders.

I feel invincible.

Like I can do anything.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

I walk her home after dinner. We don't cut through the woods, but take the long way around the neighborhood. I hold her hand the entire time.

"So, your family's… uhm…"

"Insane," I say, smiling down at her. "I know."

It would seem Dad was briefed on the kitchen incident before he got home. As soon as he'd greeted Bella, he told me off for defiling his kitchen.

It kind of went downhill from there.

"I just didn't expect them to be so…"

"Insane?"

"Well, yeah."

"Eh, this was nothing. I mean, Dad's definitely the worst one. You should've seen what Alice had to go through last year when Jasper fell out of her bedroom window."

She laughs. "Yeah, what's the story behind that?"

Laughing too, I tell her the whole thing — how I hadn't even known Jasper and Alice were dating, let alone that he was in the house, and how, that day, I'd been helping Mom unload the dishwasher when suddenly there was a scream and something fell past the window. We'd both rushed outside to find Jasper curled up on himself in Mom's flower bed, clutching his ankle.

"And Alice comes running, basically sobbing hysterically because she's convinced he's broken his neck," I say, while Bella listens, wide-eyed and laughing with her hand over her mouth. "I filmed it all on my phone. I keep threatening Alice I'll put the video up on Facebook if she gets too annoying."

"That's, uh… Wow," Bella chuckles. "Was Alice grounded for having Jasper in her room?"

I grin, unable to resist the chance to tease her. "Why? You planning on falling out of my window?"

She blushes and looks away, making me laugh.

"No. God," she says. "No."

"No? Not at all? Bummer."

She can't look at me, and she can't quite keep a smile off her face, either. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh, sorry. Guess I got a little excited. I wouldn't mind you falling out of my window, you know."

I really, definitely wouldn't.

"Why can't you fall out of my window?" She manages to regain some control of her face, and attempts a serious glare at me.

"Well, I guess I could. But I think your dad might shoot me. Mine's a doctor. He'd tend to your injuries. My window might be a safer bet."

"I don't think he'd shoot you."

"Are you sure? Because I'd rather be safe than sorry."

"Don't you think you'd be better at climbing in and out of windows than me? I mean, you're… athletic. Your odds of surviving window-climbing are much better than mine."

I chuckle, white steam rolling out of my mouth. "That's true. Didn't think about that."

She bumps me with her shoulder, and we walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence.

I walk her up to the door. The porch-light isn't on, but there's just enough light flooding out from the living room window that she's more than a vague shape in front of me.

"So," I say, letting our hands hang between us. "Good day. Very productive."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. We made brownies, made a plan. Provided my family with material to fuel their jokes for years to come. All good things."

"Definitely," she laughs. "Maybe not so much the jokes, but the brownies were good. And I like our plan."

"Me too. I mean, it's not the most detailed plan in the world, but overall it's pretty solid."

"Who needs details anyway?"

"Yeah, exactly," I say. "We're smart. We can figure it out as we go along."

"Right. By the seat of our pants."

I throw my head back and laugh. "Okay, sure."

"What? That's what it's called," she mutters as I pull her into a hug.

"I know," I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her. She leans her head against my chest, and I could definitely get used to this.

We hug for a while, gently swaying without really thinking about it. Her arms around my waist, hand against my back. I don't want to leave.

"Hey, I, uh… I talked to Alice," I say, and she leans away to look at me.

"What did you talk about?"

"About what she saw. I told her we're not telling anyone yet," I say, pausing as the wind blows hair across her face. I carefully tuck the strands behind her ear, lingering with my fingers against her neck. "She was great about it. She promised not to tell anyone."

"That was nice," she says, smiling softly. "Thank you, for talking to her."

"Yeah, no problem."

Then I kiss her. Just because I can.

"I'd better get going," I mumble once I've pulled back, reluctantly dropping my arms from around her.

The corners of her mouth turn down a little bit. "Yeah."

"Thanks for today," I say. "It was fun."

"It was." Her smile is slow, but soft and so honest it makes my chest hurt.

Ducking my head, I take the few steps down her porch. I need to make myself leave, or I never will, I don't think. "Night, Bella. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

We hold gazes for a moment as I walk backwards down the yard. Abruptly she turns around and fumbles for her key, but once she gets the door unlocked, she glances back at me over her shoulder, like she can't help herself.

I wave before shoving both hands in my pockets. I force myself to turn around. To keep walking away.

When I glance back over my shoulder, she's still watching me, a quiet smile on her face.

* * *

 **Hi. Sorry for the long wait on this one - there was one little scene I wanted to edit, and it stubbornly refused to cooperate.**

 **There aren't many EPOVs in this story, but he pipes up every now and then. Hope you guys enjoyed his perspective on things.**

 **Until next time xx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hi. Sorry for the wait on this one. I won't make excuses, because all I have is that I can't write during the summer months. I think the heat does something to my brain. It's been nice and cool this weekend, and the scene I've been editing for weeks suddenly just clicked into place in under an hour. So yay, back to posting.**

 **For anyone worried about it, I just want to repeat that I'm not going to abandon this before the end - I have all but the last couple of chapters and epilogue pre-written, so it is going to be finished, even if my nitpicky last-minute editing sometimes causes worryingly long breaks. So if you stick around - thank you, so much.**

 **Anyway. I hope you guys enjoy this one.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

'Hey' becomes my new favorite word.

'Hey' when he passes me in the hallway. 'Hey' when he comes and stands next to me in Gym. 'Hey' when he walks by my desk in English.

'Hey', murmured on a smile before he bends down to kiss me.

The first time he does it, the day after we make the plan, I can't do anything but smile back in a confused sort of way. At least, I hope it comes off as confused. Maybe I just look nervous and constipated.

It happens by my locker. I hear Emmett's booming laugh, and Edward's softer one, and I'm just distracted enough by my phone to forget to ignore the impulse to look up. They're heading straight towards me, the crowd parting for them as they move down the hall.

He does it perfectly; he turns away from the story Emmett's entertaining him with, throwing me a glance. Our eyes meet — his casual and relaxed, mine wide and surprised — and he says, simply, "Hey."

He doesn't break his stride, he doesn't stop to gauge my reaction. He doesn't even slow down. He tosses the word in my direction, and turns back to Emmett, all in one maneuver.

The next day, he parks his Volvo next to my truck. I'm still sitting inside it, gearing up for another day of school, and I look over just as he gets out of his car. He tips his chin up at me, and then walks away.

In English, it's a smile, and then later, in the hallway, it's that word again: "Hey."

My reactions to these moments aren't at all what I thought they'd be. I don't want to melt through the floor, or disappear. I don't blush out of embarrassment when people look at me, startled, as if they hadn't realized I was there until Edward pointed me out. I don't run and hide in the bathrooms, or feel queasy.

I just feel… seen. Not by everyone else, but by Edward, and I had no idea how much I wanted that until he showed me what I was missing out on.

The next day, I say "Hi" back. His answering smile is beautiful.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

 **19 October 2011**

"Do you want to come over? After school?"

I blurt these words out to him, and he glances over at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. We're in Gym, waiting for Coach to show up and start the class. I've been sitting on the question all day, nervously wondering when I'll get a chance to ask him. I don't think I'll get a better opportunity than now.

"Today?" he asks, shifting on his feet to face me more fully. We're all standing around, more or less in our pairs. I keep my voice low, so no one can overhear.

"Yeah. I, uh— Dad's driving Mom to Port Angeles after work. She has an appointment with the optician, to get new contact lenses or something, and then they're going to go grocery shopping, at that new store, you know? The one your mom likes." I'm babbling, picking at the handle of my badminton racket. Edward watches me with curious eyes.

Last night, when Mom told me about her and Dad's plans, I had a reaction I've never really had before. It wasn't the usual relief at getting the house to myself for a few hours. It wasn't the usual longing to be left completely alone. Instead, it was an immediate orientation of all my focus to Edward.

To thinking about bringing Edward back to my empty house, seeing him in our living room, in our kitchen… In my bedroom. To having him all to myself for a little while, without having to worry about putting on a show.

Our plan has been in action for exactly a week now. I think it's going well so far, but it's kind of exhausting. The way Edward and I actually became friends was so organic and natural — it just sort of happened. What we're doing now is the opposite of that, and I need a dose of the real Edward, and the real me that I am around him.

We've both been busy with school, and him with basketball, so I haven't actually hung out with him in what feels like forever. I'm feeling a little desperate, even though I'll never admit that to him.

"So, anyway, they won't be home until late," I continue, and his eyes go from curious to blank with understanding. "And I thought we could hang out. At, uh, at my place."

He blinks, and blinks again. "Okay." He adds a nod, an awkward, bobbing kind. "Yeah. Yes."

I smile a little, just as Coach opens the door to his office and tells us to gather up for attendance. Edward's head tilts in his direction, but he doesn't move; he seems to struggle to tear his eyes away from mine.

Grinning to myself, I duck my head and walk ahead of him, glancing back over my shoulder only when I hear him jog to catch up.

Later, after school, I head home, watching in my rear-view mirror as Edward pulls out of the parking lot just behind me. It's pouring with rain, droplets pounding like bullets on the roof of my truck. My windshield wipers can barely keep up, so I take it slow. I can almost hear Edward's exasperated sighs.

I pull in to the driveway, and Edward parks on the street. Flipping my hood up, I jump out of my truck and make a run for the porch, a small scream leaving me as the rain picks up in intensity, washing over us like a white sheet. Edward isn't far behind, and he skids to a stop next to me when we're under the roof, laughing as he looks down at himself; his shoes are soaked, and his jeans are wet up to the knee.

"Jesus christ," he mutters as I busy myself fishing my key out of my bag.

We both take off our raincoats outside, hanging them on the pegs by the door. Our shoes are next, but I tell him to bring them inside, so they'll have a better chance of drying.

"Come on," I say, holding the door for him. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

I lead him to the kitchen, dropping my bag by the foot of the stairs as we go past; he does the same. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck, and the fact that we're _alone_ -alone trickles through me, plucking at some string inside my chest.

I turn to him when we get to the kitchen. His eyes move around the room, seeming slightly taken aback by the colors.

I put my finger against my cheek, scratching an itch that isn't there. "Uhm, Mom paints the kitchen every, like, two years." He nods slowly. "She only did the cabinets this time."

The cabinets in question are a bright, cheery yellow. The wall opposite is a dark red — accent walls were all the rage when Mom did that one — and I kind of hate it. A large cork board takes up much of the space, though, crammed full of recipes, receipts, and flyers. I don't think anyone's actually touched it in about a decade. I'm sure there's a drawing I did in first grade under there somewhere.

The curtains framing the window are obnoxiously green, with a butterfly-print. Mom painted the table and chairs to match the cabinets.

It's a far cry from his own granite-top, stainless steel kitchen. Not that it matters, but his at least doesn't hurt the eyes quite as much.

"It's cool," he says, making me laugh. He cracks a smile, watching me. "What?"

"No, I've just never heard my Mom's design choices described as cool before."

He shrugs, stepping closer, all casual-like. "First time for everything. Et cetera."

"True."

He lets his eyes sweep over the place again. Drumming his fingers against the countertop, he says, "So this is where the magic happens?"

I look around, too. Settling my gaze on him, I raise my eyebrows. "Is it?"

"Yeah." He rolls back on his heels, a pointed look on his face. Enunciating very carefully, he continues, "Cookie magic."

I roll my eyes, biting back a smile. Turning around, I stand on my toes to grab the box on top of the fridge. Edward comes closer as I peel back the lid, offering him the contents.

"Chocolate chip. I made them yesterday."

He snags the biggest one he can find. "You're amazing."

I shrug, trying not to be too obvious with how pleased this makes me.

"These are good," he mumbles behind the crumbs. He licks his lips, and I look away, my lungs shrinking for a second.

"Thanks." I put the box on the counter, turning away to grab two bottles of water from the fridge. He smiles with his mouth full, busy chewing, accepting it as I offer him one.

We stand there for a while, him eating, me sipping my water. I try to think of something we can talk about, but then I meet his eyes and find him staring at me, only for him to look away almost playfully. Lips twitching, I watch him until he glances back, and then it's my turn to sweep my attention elsewhere.

I hear him snuffle a tiny laugh, and I watch as he places his half-eaten cookie down on the counter next to his water. I glance up through my lashes, catching his eye. He doesn't look away this time. Brushing crumbs from his fingers, he steps closer.

"Hey," he says, smiling as he gazes down at me.

"Hi," I say back, smiling just as wide.

He slips his arms around my waist, and for a moment, all I can hear is the rain thundering down outside, and the soft sound his fingers make against my shirt as he slides his hands across my back.

He kisses me slowly, and softly, a warm press of his mouth against mine. I wind my arms around his shoulders, slipping my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth, he moves down my cheek and jaw. His lips brush against my throat, and I close my eyes at the feeling. Tightening his arms around me, he buries his head in my shoulder, and I rise up on my toes, hugging him back.

We stand there for a moment, parts of me pressing against parts of him. I can feel him breathing, and I lean my head against his, unable to stop myself from playing with his hair.

"This is nice," he mumbles against my shoulder, and I sink back down on my feet as he pulls away to look at me.

"You're nice."

He smiles winningly. "I know. No wonder you want to make out with me."

I laugh, untangling myself and grabbing the box of cookies and my water. "Do I?"

"Of course you do."

"What makes you say that?" I ask as I incline my head towards the doorway.

"Well, I have a sneaky suspicion, you see."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's loosely related to the fact that your parents aren't home."

Hiding my smile, I shake my head, walking out of the kitchen. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhmm."

Walking ahead of him, I lead him to the stairs and up, pointing out the bathroom in case he needs it. He shakes his head no. Pushing open the door to my bedroom, I head inside. Dumping the bottle and the box on my bedside table, I turn as he steps over the threshold. He takes everything in with curious eyes, his gaze sweeping over the walls.

I tidied up last night, once I'd decided I was definitely going to ask him to come over. My desk is still a mess, and I'm sure he can tell I mostly shoved everything that was on the floor under my bed, but it's clean, and he can't see any underwear, so that's a win.

"I like your room."

"Thanks."

He walks over to the south-facing window, overlooking our backyard, and peeks outside. Maybe he's trying to see his house through the trees. I almost tell him it's no use, but maybe that's a bit too revealing.

I sit down on the bed. It squeaks a bit, making him turn around. He smiles as if he's relaxed and smooth, but the way he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands tells a different story.

"So how do you think our plan's going?" I ask, to get him talking.

He takes a moment to consider it, gaze travelling once again across my room. He walks over to my bookshelf, on the other side of my bed. "It's going okay, right? It's definitely getting easier."

"I think so, too." I turn so I can see him better, folding my left leg up beneath me.

He pulls out my copy of _Stardust_ , smiling as he looks over the cover. He loves Neil Gaiman. "I think Gym is helping. Makes everyone used to seeing us together, you know?"

"Yeah, exactly."

He pushes the book back in place, and taps the hat on my Gandalf bobblehead. It bobbles, as advertised.

He sits down on the bed next to me. Reaching over, he takes my hand and plays with my fingers, studying them in silent contemplation.

With a lopsided grin, I ask, "Wanna make out?"

He snorts. Looking up, he pretends to think about it and finally concludes with a shrug. "Ehh."

Laughing, I bump his shoulder with my own before leaning in and cupping his cheek, pulling him close. His lips are still stretched in a wide smile when I kiss him.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

"I mean, okay, I see your point, but I'm just not that excited about it," Edward says. "I thought it would look better."

"It's the _first_ trailer!" I throw my hands up, staring at him incredulously. "You can at least wait until the second one before deciding the whole movie'll suck."

"But that's the point of the first trailer, isn't it? To get you excited about stuff. I think it looks kind of lame. Really disjointed, you know?"

"You're— You know what? No. _You're_ lame and disjointed," I say, poking him in the chest indignantly. "You're doubting Joss, and I'm not going to let you."

He blinks down at me once, twice, completely deadpan. He's lying next to me on his side, one hand cradling his head, the other next to my hip, his arm across my stomach.

"You're being ridiculous," he informs me.

"Well, you're being dumb. I can't believe you."

"We've had this conversation before," he says, with a measure of exasperation. "You knew I wasn't impressed when we watched it last week."

"Yeah, but I was hoping you'd start to see reason after a few days to sit on it."

"Don't you think it's possible you're the one not seeing reason? Like maybe you're clinging a little too hard to the fact that Joss Whedon's involved, like that automatically means it's going to be amazing? Not everything he does is good, you know."

I stare at him, aghast. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm the dumb idiot who has some mild doubts about the Avengers movie. Apparently." He widens his eyes and rolls away from me, flopping onto his back.

I follow, putting a hand on his stomach as I push myself into a half-seated position. He grunts, doubling over slightly.

"You love The Avengers."

"I know," he grumbles, lifting my hand away from his stomach.

"No, I mean, you _love_ The Avengers."

"I _know_ ," he says, frowning as he imitates my tone.

"You need to be excited on principle. This is your thing, the center of your nerdiness. You defend it blindly, even if it sucks. Especially if it sucks, some might say."

"Did I mention before how you're being ridiculous?"

"You're being ridiculous."

"Yeah, well, you're the one making out with me."

I pull back an inch. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. I'm just saying."

"Saying what? That I'm ridiculous by association? That still means you're ridiculous. You're the source of it."

His lips twitch, on the edge of a smirk. "Maybe, but five minutes ago I was touching your boobs."

I try really hard not to blush furiously. "What's your point?"

"No, no point. Just wanted to remind myself," he says, crossing his arms behind his head. The smirk is no longer on the edge — it's center stage, under a massive spotlight.

Failing spectacularly at not blushing, I fall back on the bed by his side, eyes resolutely on the ceiling. "Gloating is not an attractive quality, you know."

"Says the girl making out with me five minutes ago," he murmurs, rolling onto his side and dipping his head to my neck. He sucks lightly on my skin, before trailing kisses up to my ear. My breath stutters embarrassingly.

"Repeating the same argument over and over doesn't mean you're right," I mutter, slipping my fingers into his hair, clenching tightly.

"Mhmm."

I swallow tightly. "I know what you're doing."

"What's that?" He murmurs the words into my skin.

"You're trying to distract me."

"From what?" His voice is innocent, but with his hand thoroughly exploring the inside of my sweater, it lacks credibility.

"From talking about why you hate _The Avengers_."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He kisses me before I can say anything back, rolling a bit more firmly on top of me. I arch into him, giving up immediately. I only started talking about the movie because I accidentally brushed against his groin five minutes ago, and I needed a break to get my bearings.

Because things were… felt.

Pressed against.

Made evident. _Things_ were evident.

Or, I guess, _thing_. Just the one. Singular.

Ahem.

Feeling this evident thing pressed against me had certain implications. Good implications. Great, even. But also kind of scary and nerve-racking implications. And talking about something that doesn't matter was a good way of avoiding a freak-out, letting me come to terms with the fact that Edward has a—… that he— that certain _things_ are… things. Because of me. Possibly more precisely because of my boobs.

Which are attached to me. So by association… because of me.

It's a lot to take in.

But kissing Edward is far better than not kissing Edward, and as things once again become kind of evident, I quickly realize the good implications outweigh the scary ones by an unquantifiable amount.

Edward pulls back just enough so I can see his eyes. I lick my lips, and he glances down for a second, momentarily distracted. When his eyes find mine once again, he looks slightly nervous, and he swallows quickly before asking, "Is this okay?"

At the same time, he flexes his hips carefully, to make it clear what he's referring to.

And maybe I should be blushing, or look nervous, same as him, but my face responds without much input from my head, because the clarity of my feelings doesn't need it. I smile at him, wide and unabashedly, before bringing his lips back to mine without a word.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

 **20 October 2011**

I pull my truck into the an empty parking space at the far side of the lot. I've already spotted Edward's car, so I know he must be here.

Scanning the yard, my eyes land on him after a moment. He's by the front doors, with Emmett — and therefore also with Rosalie, unfortunately — but both Alice and Jasper are there, too, which should hopefully make what I'm about to do a little easier.

I take a deep breath, and reach for my bag next to me on the seat. But after gripping the strap tightly, I freeze. Can I do this? Really? Or am I going to chicken out at the last second?

Motionless, I look at the group again. Maybe if I just pretend Rosalie isn't there. Alice and Jasper are fine, and Emmett's… well, I'm not sure yet what he is. But he's not bad. If anyone else from the basketball team was there instead of him, I'd abandon the idea right away.

So that's something.

"Come on. You idiot," I mumble to myself, ducking my head and forcing my arm to move, forcing my hand to close around the door handle.

I slip out of the truck and land on slightly unsteady legs. My mind goes a little fuzzy and blank. I have no idea what I'm actually going to do when I get up there. I practiced a million times last night, and a million more this morning, but as my feet carry me towards them, I'm no longer sure if what I practiced is going to be what I end up doing.

My inhales start being bigger than my exhales; my lungs stagger and stall, and I turn all my focus on not panicking myself into hyperventilating, which ends up being a good idea — coaching myself to breathe like a normal person means I can't freak out about what I'm about to do.

I lift my eyes once I reach the first steps. They're to the left of the doors, leaning against the poured-concrete planters lining the stairs. Alice stands in front of Jasper, her whole back against his chest, holding his arms wrapped around her. Rosalie's sitting on the ledge, legs crossed and eyes on her phone.

I can totally do this. I'm fine.

I flick my eyes away, pulling my face into a nonchalant expression as I start walking up towards the doors. Just as I glance over again, though, Edward crouches down with his back towards me and starts digging through his bag.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I can't say hi if he's not even looking at me. What if he doesn't hear me? I'll literally die of embarrassment.

My steps don't falter, but the small amount of confidence I've mustered while walking over absolutely does.

At that moment, Emmett catches my eye — he glances away from watching Edward's bag-exploration, and looks straight at me. I'm almost level with them now.

He smiles quickly, but with friendliness, and nods his head at me, as if he's done it a thousand times. A wordless, simple, 'Hey.'

Emmett McCarty just said a wordless, simple, 'Hey' to me.

Automatically, I copy his gestures, a small smile forming as I nod back. My stomach jolts in surprise at the ease of it, but I don't let it show through on my face. I don't think, anyway.

I continue past them, my eyes only sweeping across the top of Edward's head as I turn away. No snagging, no staring, as if I don't care if Edward notices me at all.

My fingers are shaking when I reach for the door, pulling it open and heading inside. I automatically keep walking toward my locker, and the door swings shut behind me.

Well. That didn't go at all how I'd practiced.

Unbelievably, I think Edward's done such a good job of the first phase of our plan that it's now normal for his friends to say hi to me even when he doesn't. I exhale slow and steady as I relax, relief sweeping through me now that the thing is over.

I did it.

Kind of.

Maybe not to the person I'd planned, but I said hi to someone in public, in front of other people. My decision to head into the unknown, to not just stay the same, boring old Bella that no one actually knows or acknowledges, might be easier to pull off than I thought.

I bite the inside of my lip, trying not to smile.

I can't wait to tell Edward.

* * *

 **Thanks so much for reading, you guys.**

 **Until next time xx**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **21 October 2011**

"So I've just finished their costumes, when Isaac suddenly decides he doesn't want to be a cowboy after all," Angela says, leaning against the locker next to mine. I nod as I exchange my Calculus book for my Biology one.

"No, cowboys aren't 'cool' any more," she continues, curling her fingers sarcastically. "Now he wants to be Starscream."

I frown, shutting my locker. We start to weave our way through the crowded hallway. "The Transformer?"

"Yeah." She looks both miserable and annoyed. "Like, right, I can make a Transformer costume with barely a week's notice, no problem."

"What'd your mom say?"

Annoyance wins out. "She's too busy organizing the Pumpkin Patch to be any help, so she just said I have to decide what I want to do. But the problem is, if I make a new costume for Isaac, Josh has said he wants one too, because otherwise it's 'not fair.'" She rolls her eyes. "Not that he wants a new one. I'm basically choosing which brother I want to see throw a tantrum."

"Right," I say, dodging around a group of freshmen. "So what are you going to do?"

"I have no idea." Her expression swings back to miserable. "I mean, I know I should just make Isaac wear the cowboy costume, because he needs to learn to stick to his commitments, and blah blah, but his tantrums last for _hours_. Josh can be pretty bad, but he calms down so much faster."

We turn down the hall and make our way over to her locker. She fiddles with the combination, looking gloomy. "I just really don't know what to do."

"This is making me kind of glad I don't have siblings."

She laughs, taking out her Biology book and miming bashing her head against it.

In an effort to embrace my new philosophy in life — 'Don't be a social recluse' — I've made the effort to talk to Angela more. She's super nice, and I have to admit, walking with someone down the hallway between classes is kind of great. I finally get why everyone else on Earth does it.

"Anyway," she says now. "Do you have any plans for Halloween?"

I snort. "Not really. Mom always tries to get me to help hand out candy, but I usually just hide out in my room."

She sighs forlornly. "I wish I could do that. Trick or Treating seriously isn't the same when you're the babysitter."

Out of nowhere, something descends on us. Angela lets out a tiny squeak, and I jump as something heavy drapes itself on my shoulders.

I glance up and to the right, where I can see the owner of the something heavy out of the corner of my eye. To my surprise, it's Jasper, arms on each of our shoulders as he leans in between us. He's staring straight back at me with a dazzling grin.

"Who's going Trick or Treating?"

Angela stares at him for a second before laughing. He pulls away, turning us to face him in the process.

"Uhm," Angela says, still laughing slightly, "my brothers."

"Twins, right?"

She lights up, obviously surprised but pleased that he knows this. "Right."

Jasper managed to do integrate himself with zero effort into the chess club. The first ten minutes were a little stiff, what with all of us staring at him in a way that seemed to say, 'What?' and 'How?' and ' _What_!?', but he masterfully ignored that and went from god-like Cool Person to plebeian Seriously Not Cool Person before our very eyes as he showed Ben the World of Warcraft chess set he had his eyes on.

He seems to be one of those people who can effortlessly meld with any group of people. He should make a career out of it. Maybe go into government, so when the aliens come, he can be the welcome party.

Over Jasper's shoulder, I can see Edward and Emmett. Edward's wearing my favorite of all his hoodies, and he looks so good it's painful. I'm trying not to stare, but my eyes keep flickering back to him. He smiles at me, and my stomach swoops in response.

"Are you taking them?" Jasper says now.

"Yeah," Angela says, loosely hugging her book against her chest. "I was just telling Bella about it. I'm making their costumes, too."

"Wow." He looks impressed. "Do you still have time to make your own and stuff?"

"Oh, I uh, I don't dress up when I take them," she says with a small laugh, glancing at me quickly. She seems to not want to really look at Emmett and Edward, as if talking to Jasper is all the Cool People interaction she can handle in one go.

"No, I meant for next weekend."

"What's next weekend?"

"Best party of the year," Emmett says, his grin big and toothy. Angela can't help but look at him now; her eyes are wider than normal.

Jasper nods, looking pleased. "My parents are actually going out of town this year, too. A special treat, since it's Senior year and everything. I've promised not to make it too big, but you know how these things can be."

Angela and I stare at him in a '... No, seriously, _what_?' kind of way. I do it mostly because I think I know what they're talking about, but I'm not entirely sure why they're talking about it with us.

Jasper's been having Halloween parties at his house for a few years now. I've obviously never gone, but Edward's told me all about them, and they become the talk of the school in the weeks leading up to Halloween. His parents apparently love it, so they go all-out on the decorations, even spreading out into the forest bordering their back yard to create a kind of outdoor Haunted House.

Rumour has it Austin got so scared in there last year he wet his pants.

"My cousin's buying the keg," Emmett says, conspiratorially lowering his voice. He then looks at me and winks. "Don't tell your dad."

I'm guessing with Jasper's parents gone this year, it's going to include a little less blood-red punch with eyeballs and a little more beer, beer, and beer.

I blink. "Okay."

Edward looks down at the floor, pressing his lips together as he tries not to laugh.

"Yeah, it's going to be great," Jasper says. "Just chip in like five bucks, and you're golden."

Another round of staring commences. I really don't know what to say right now. Does Jasper not realize his party is a Cool People Only party?

His smile slips a little as he glances between us. "What?"

I look at Angela; she looks at me. Who's going to say it?"

After a second, Angela does something in the proximity of a nod before turning back to Jasper. "You want us to chip in money for the keg?"

"Yeah."

"Because… you want us to come to your party?"

Jasper frowns, looking profoundly confused. "I mean… yeah. Why, were you not going to?"

I glance at Angela. Her mouth moves soundlessly for a moment.

"I, uh… I didn't know we were invited," she says.

"Of course you're invited."

We are?

"We are?" Angela says. I'm so glad we're on the same page about this.

"Yeah." His confusion deepens, mirroring Angela's. "Why wouldn't you be?"

"I— I don't know," she says, shaking her head.

"You are. Invited." He points at both of us. "You were invited before, but now I'm making it official. Why did you think you weren't invited?"

Because Angela and I aren't Cool People.

"I mean, we just— No one told us? I don't know." Angela turns to me with a helpless expression, as if seeking backup. I can't offer any, and shrug just as helplessly.

"Okay, now you _have_ to come. You'll tell the guys, right? I want all of my favorite chess-club buddies there," Jasper says, grinning as he reaches forward and squeezes both of our shoulders.

The physical contact takes me by surprise, and I flinch slightly. He turns a curious eye to me, tightening his grip. "You'll come, right, Bella?"

My brain stalls. I can't think of an excuse. "Uhm."

"You should. It'll be fun," Edward says, making us all turn to look at him. He just smiles and adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder.

Jasper's lips twitch, but he quickly schools his expression. "Of course you should come. It'll be fun."

I do something similar to a nod, which is apparently close enough for him. He releases my shoulder and gives it a quick clap.

"Great, that's settled then," he says, right as the bell rings. Taking a step back, he gives a cheerful wave. "See you guys later."

We watch the three of them walk away.

"That was weird," Angela murmurs. "Right?"

"Totally."

"And… We're going to the party now. Right?"

"I— Yeah."

I don't want to go. I'd rather get a colonoscopy than go to a Cool People party. My mind immediately starts thinking up excuses. Maybe I could say I'm sick. Like with the flu. No one wants a germy cesspool at a party.

Angela touches my arm. "Come on, we'll be late for class."

I nod absently, watching as Jasper leans into Edward, saying something. Edward stiffens, and immediately gives him a shove. Jasper laughs, dancing out of his way.

I'm glad I'm still watching them when they round the corner; Edward slows his step and looks back over his shoulder, eyes unerringly finding me. The last thing I see before he disappears are his lips, turning up in a soft smile.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

I sit on the bleachers, alone. Angela was sitting with me before, but she's currently losing her match. Well, Ben's losing it for her. He's hopeless. It's a good thing success in life isn't measured in badminton skills, because he'd be screwed.

The rest of the class is here, too. Not next to me, obviously. They all grouped together further up and a noticeable number of feet away on the bleachers. Angela made it bearable, but without her, I'm just a loser sitting by herself.

Which is great.

We're doing our badminton finals. If you lose a match, you're out. If you win, you're through to the next round. We only have two nets up, which means anyone not playing just sits and watches the games. Which is fine, when you're the one sitting and watching.

But it's going to be mine and Edward's turn soon, and then everyone else is going to be sitting and watching me, and I feel like I've walked into one of my nightmares.

The bleachers thud underneath me. Glancing up, I watch as Edward heads in my direction, leaving Emmett, Rosalie and Lauren where they sit with everyone else. He waves slightly as he comes closer, before effortlessly stepping off the bottom bleacher and sitting down next to me in a seamless move.

"I'm here to talk strategy," he says by way of greeting.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That's what it's going to look like, anyway." Gesturing with his bat, he says, "Like now, I'm pretending to talk about how these guys suck."

I nod wisely, turning to look out over the court myself. Ben takes the opportunity to yelp and slap a hand to his eye when he catches the shuttlecock in the face.

"And now I'm pretending to say something about something badminton-y." I point vaguely.

Edward hums, flipping his racket so he can tap the handle against the floor. "I agree, and also, I have a secondary point I assume _you'll_ agree with?"

"Oh, definitely."

Edward's silent for a moment, surveying the court. "We're going to fucking crush this."

"Yup."

He continues tapping his racket against the floor between his feet. I look at him from the corner of my eye. I've realized I really like looking at Edward. I've kind of always known that, but now I _really_ like it. He has so many nice angles and straight lines. Knobbly wrist bones, a freckle at the base of his thumb. Prominent knuckles to punctuate each of his long fingers.

I never used to care about knuckles before. Not until I realized Edward has amazing knuckles.

His legs are hairy, and his knees are knobbly, too, but in a strong kind of way. The more I stare at them, the more I want to reach out and touch his skin. I want to run my fingers over the bumps and dips of his stupid, knobbly knees.

I put my hands down on the bench on either side of me, pressing them into the wood and holding on tight.

He catches me looking, and dips his head my way. "Hey – Alice wants you to come over for another movie night."

I snap out of my knee-staring. I should hide my surprise, but I can't. "She does?"

"Yeah. Tonight okay? Our parents will be home, but…" He shrugs.

"Uhm, yeah. I think so. I'll have to check with Mom, but it should be fine." I pause, biting my lip. "Did she really—"

His eyebrows rise when I stop. "What?"

"Did… I mean, did she really say she wanted me to come over?"

"Yes. She said, 'make Bella come over for a movie tonight. I want to hang out with her.'"

I try to take that in, but it's a little overwhelming. Other than Edward, no one's ever said they _want_ to hang out with me. Annoyingly, my face gets warmer, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

"Well, tell her I want to hang out with her, too," I mumble.

He looks at me again, a smile growing on his face. He knows exactly what's going on. He playfully taps his racket against my shin. "You're going to hang out with me first. Just so you know."

I roll my eyes and heave a sigh. " _Fine_ , if I have to."

He snorts, looking out over the court. "You didn't mind hanging out with me on Wednesday."

I swallow. No, I definitely hadn't minded that.

"Is that the kind of hanging we'll be doing?"

He bounces the top of his racket against his knee, humming. "Maybe. Would that make it easier to suffer through?"

"Probably."

"Then that's the kind of hanging we'll be doing."

I'm glad our ugly gym-shirts cover our chests, because I can feel mine going all blotchy and red. I'm suddenly very tempted to cancel the chess club meeting later, and make Edward skip basketball practice.

"Cool," I whisper. He glances up at me, the green in his eyes particularly clear in the harsh lighting of the gym. I need to remember that. Edward looks really hot in Gym.

He turns his head back to the court, but not before letting his gaze drop to my mouth for a moment, lingering.

We sit in silence for the remainder of the game. I stare at his knees some more.

All too soon, though, the first round ends, and Coach waves up the other half of the class to take their places on the courts. Shit.

Taking a deep breath, I grab my racket and stand up. A swell of nerves hits me so fast it's like a punch to the gut.

Oh god, this isn't good. This is very, very bad.

I want to throw up.

Edward heads towards the court, easy as pie. I follow on robotic legs. Coach points us towards one of the nets, and then directs Rosalie and Emmett to follow. On the other net, Mike and Jessica square off against Garrett and Lauren.

By the time we're in place, I'm shaking. I tighten my grip on the racket, willing it not to tremble. Looking up, I find myself staring at all our classmates. We're only a tiny little group; logically I know there are only eight people sitting on those bleachers. Logically I know they won't be staring at me the whole time.

But adrenaline is pouring into my system, and the eight suddenly look a hundred strong. My heart pounds a sick staccato in my chest.

I seriously think I might throw up.

I look down at the floor, at the painted lines and the scuff marks. My throat is dry and tight. God, please, don't throw up.

"Listen, Edward, before we start, I just want you to know… " Emmett says, bouncing the strings of his racket against his fingers, "I'm going to destroy you."

Edward laughs, making it as patronizing as possible. I shift on my feet, clenching my hands around the handle of my racket again and again as my stomach churns. "Oh, okay."

"What? I am. Right, babe?" Emmett says, draping his arm over Rosalie's shoulders.

"Right," she says, surprising me by throwing a smirk at Edward. It's the most human expression I've ever seen on her face.

"Please, we'd have a harder match if we were playing against two garbage cans," Edward says, gesturing between himself and me. "You're going down."

I don't want to burst his bubble or anything, but I don't think we'll win after I curl up on the floor in a fetal position.

The game starts, and I'm predictably terrible. I wince as the shuttlecock tumbles to the floor next to me yet again, having sailed right past my racket.

"Shit," I mumble to myself, bending down to grab it. This is so embarrassing.

"You good?" Edward asks behind me. His tone has a level of confusion in it. I haven't been playing amazingly in our other games, but I've been good enough. Now I'm a garbage can.

No wonder he's confused.

I straighten up, eyes landing on the bleachers. I've been avoiding them for the last couple of minutes, because I'm pretty sure I know what I'm going to see, and Gym is humiliating enough without your classmates laughing at you for sucking.

But to my surprise, no one is looking back at me. Maybe no one saw me being an absolute dweeb. My need to barf settles ever so slightly.

I move back into position in front of the net, glancing over at the bleachers again. Angela sees me, and gives me a little smile before turning back to Ben, who's whispering something in her ear. And that's it. No one else seems to care.

Which actually makes sense. Who gives a shit about badminton, anyway?

I can feel Edward's eyes on me still. I haven't answered his question.

"All good," I mumble, and I don't even have to lie very much. The nerves churning my stomach into butter ebb and settle a little more, and then again, and then some. I face forward and make my serve.

Every minute I'm up here, it gets easier. Even when we beat Emmett and Rosalie, and Coach announces it, making everyone look at us, it's kind of okay. Even when Austin and Katie square off against us for the next round, and Mike jeers from the other net that he's going to beat them in the final after they 'wipe the floor' with us, it's fine. Even when Edward dismissively flips him off without checking if Coach is watching, and receives an earful that catches me slightly with the shrapnel, I've been through worse.

I don't fully understand how, but in the end, we're up against Mike and Jessica in the final, and even with Mike in my direct line of sight, I don't suck. In fact, I don't suck so much that we win.

The whole thing. We win.

When Coach blows his whistle, Edward immediately drops his racket and throws both fists into the air with a whoop of victory. Up on the bleachers, Emmett claps sarcastically.

On the other side of the net, Mike limply throws his arms out, staring incredulously at Coach. "Oh, come on," he says, as if he's worried Coach might've lost his mind.

Edward ignores him and turns to me, lowering one of his hands for a high-five. "Told you we'd crush it," he says, slapping his palm against mine.

"You did."

"I'm going to make out with you so hard later," he murmurs. He nods decisively. "Because we're winners."

I press my lips together as I flush. Partly because making out with Edward is my favorite thing, but also because winning, it turns out, feels pretty freaking great. "Okay."

"Give it a rest, Newton," Coach is barking, meanwhile, to a Mike who's grown somewhat more agitated. Looks like he's a bit of a sore loser.

His jaw juts out stubbornly for a second; he glances over at me and Edward before he shakes his head. "Whatever. This is bullshit."

"Hey," Coach says, pointing a finger at him. "Watch your language, or I'll make it a ten-mile run for you. Got it?"

"Got it," Mike bites out, turning away before Coach can say anything else. Edward watches him go with an exasperated expression.

"Every time," he says. "Honestly, the worst part about losing a basketball game is having to watch Mike throw a hissy-fit." He looks after him for a moment longer. "He's such a douchebag."

As if winning a sport-thing for the first time in my life isn't enough, Edward just reaffirmed my own belief that Mike is in fact a giant asshole. Today's freaking great.

Edward turns back to me with a cute little shrug, a grin returning his face to where it was before, glowing with victory.

"I'll see you after school?" he says, in a low voice. At my nod, he gives me another high-five and then turns to help the guys take down the nets. The skin on my palm tingles.

Angela meets up with me as I walk to our locker room. "Congratulations," she says. "I'm so jealous."

"I know, I can't believe we won."

"What do you think Coach will have you do when the rest of us are out running?"

I make a face. "God, hopefully nothing."

Angela nods, holding the door open for me as we step into the locker room. "Yeah, it'd be nice if he just lets you hang out."

"Exactly."

Angela's quiet for a moment, pulling her hair into a bun at the top of her head. "You guys seem to get along."

"Who?"

"You and Edward."

"Oh. Right," I say, heading for my locker so she can't see my cheeks turning pink.

"Don't you live like, right next door to him?"

"Yeah, kinda," I say, to avoid having to explain the layout of our entire neighbourhood.

"Cool," she says. "He seems really nice."

My cheeks get hotter. I'm not used to talking about Edward with people. I don't know what to do with myself. "He is."

She drops the subject there, but it feels like something's going unsaid. I don't know if this means Edward's plan is a lot more efficient than we ever could've imagined, or if he and I are being too obvious. Maybe it doesn't matter.

After taking a quick shower, I hurry through getting dressed. The locker room turns into a gossip corner like clockwork, so I always try to leave before it happens.

"See you later," I mumble to Angela as I pass her on the way to the door.

She turns, still wrapped in her towel as she brushes her hair. "Oh, I'll just be five minutes — wait for me?"

She says it with such a genuinely hopeful smile I immediately can't argue with myself about the merits of waiting or not waiting. Of course I'll wait.

"Sure," I say. I point over my shoulder. "I'll just be outside."

"Okay," she says, grinning before turning back to her hair with renewed energy.

As I make my way out to one of the benches in the hallway, I realize quite suddenly that Angela doesn't really hang out with other girls. Kind of like me, expect she has Ben and Eric and Garrett, which might be why I've never noticed. So she has friends, and a boyfriend, but I don't know if she has friends who are girls.

Maybe I'm not the only one enjoying walking to classes together. I didn't think about that before. Does Angela want to be friends with me? Better, closer friends than we are now?

That's interesting. And really kind of nice, if it's true.

My lips turn up into a gentle smile. Angela wants to be my friend, Alice wants to hang out with _me_ , specifically… It's almost a little overwhelming.

A couple of minutes later, the door to the boy's locker room opens further down the hall, bringing with it a wave of Axe body spray and a swell of noise. It spits out Mike, gym bag slung over his shoulder, closely followed by Austin, Emmett, and finally Edward, who looks weirdly pissed off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he's asking, planting his feet as the door swings shut behind him. I lean back on the bench, trusting the vending machine next to me to keep me out of their sight.

"What? You have to admit it's kind of bullshit."

"No, I don't," Edward says, just as Emmett chimes in with, "Give it a rest, Mike."

"Oh, come on," he says, in response. I can't see him from behind the vending machine, but his arrogant stance is clear in his tone. "I'm just saying, there's no way she would've won a single game if she hadn't been playing with you, Cullen. That's why it's bullshit. I'm not discrediting your skills or whatever. You're the reason you won. If she'd been playing with someone else, I would've beaten her easily."

I don't breathe. Blood slowly drains out of my head, sickening cold taking its place. My stomach feels like a rock.

Edward's hands are clenched in fists. "She's a good player."

Mike snorts derisively. I want to run up, grab Edward's hand and pull him out the doors, really far, far away. I don't want him to hear what Mike thinks of me.

"' _She's a good player'_ ," Mike mimics in a childish voice. "Please. I could beat her with my eyes closed."

Edward's expression darkens. "Clearly not, or you wouldn't be whining right now. You know you being a sore loser all the time is getting really fucking annoying, right?"

Emmett closes his eyes, a resigned look on his face. Mike comes back into my view as he steps right up to Edward, dropping his bag at their feet. He's shorter than Edward, and when he cranes his neck back, I can see the flush of red creeping up from under his collar.

"The fuck did you just say? I'm not a sore loser just because I call bullshit on this," Mike says. "You took on a charity case when you partnered with Swan. Everyone knows it. She wouldn't have won if it wasn't for you, so it's bullshit."

"What are you even talking about?" Edward says, anger putting a strain on his voice. "It's just a fucking badminton game."

"That she shouldn't have won!"

Edward looks incredulous. "Why do you fucking care? Jesus, what's your problem?"

"My problem is that I don't like—"

"Losing? Or losing to a girl?" Edward interrupts, cocking his head slightly to the side. His ears are dark red, and there's a muscle ticking in his jaw. I don't think I've ever seen him angry like this before. "Bella isn't a fucking charity case, and she beat you because she's a good player, not because of me. If that hurts your fragile little ego, that's your fucking problem, dipshit."

"What'd you call me?" Mike asks, his voice dangerously low.

"I said," Edward immediately responds, enunciating carefully and loudly, "you're a dipshit."

Mike shoves him, hard enough to force Edward to take a few steps back. Edward's expression switches immediately from anger to rage, and he surges forward as Austin lets out a shout, and Emmett bulls his way in between them, one arm outstretched against both of their chests.

"Hey!" He firmly pushes Mike back, glaring at him. "Jesus. Chill the fuck out, Newton."

"He started it," Mike growls, shoving Emmett's arm away.

"Oh, what are you, fucking five?" Edward snaps back, anger pulsing from every taut line of his body. "Grow up."

"Hey, Ed? Shut up," Emmett suggests, firmly. Bending down, he grabs Mike's forgotten gym bag and pushes it against his chest. "Both of you, calm the hell down. Do you want Coach to hear about this?"

Edward's jaw muscle keeps ticking, and he doesn't take his eyes off Mike. I'm completely frozen in my seat. Holy shit.

Angela chooses this moment to emerge from the locker room right in front of me. "Okay, I'm ready," she says, hair swinging and lips smiling. Her smile immediately falls when she sees my face, though, and she freezes in her step. She looks back and forth between my eyes. "What?"

She turns to her right, and spots Emmett holding Edward back, other hand outstretched towards Mike. Her eyes grow wide. The door quietly swings shut behind her.

Stomach feeling like a bundle of bees, and breaths tiny and shallow, I stand from the bench. When I turn to face the guys, too, the only thing I can see is Edward and the stricken look on his face. The anger drains from him like air being let out of a balloon.

"Bella?" he says, forehead creasing.

"Uhm…" I say, turning back to Angela. "We can go."

I don't know what to say to him. I don't really want to _say_ anything at all; I just want to plaster myself to his chest for an hour or so, and then make out with him a bit. But that feels like such a primitive response that I don't really know what to do with myself.

"Okay," she says, falling into step beside me as we head for the doors. Austin moves out of the way, and I can feel Edward trying to catch my eye, but I can't look at him. Mostly due to the chest-plastering thing, but also because if I look at him, I have to see Mike, and I really don't want to do that.

The last thing I hear when the door shuts behind us is Emmett saying, "Nice going, genius."

"What was that about?" Angela immediately asks, turning to look over her shoulder. "Were they fighting? Like, fighting-fighting?

"No. I don't know. It was weird." And hot, and weird, and infuriating and embarrassing, and really hot, which is so weird.

She stares at me. "Explain. Details. Give me details."

"They just— I don't know, they were mid-conversation when they came out in the hall. I guess they didn't see me. Mike was being all pissy because he didn't win our match or whatever. Apparently he thinks it's unfair."

Angela's eye roll is so expressive I can almost hear it. "He's such a douchebag."

"Yeah. Then Edward called him a dipshit, and it kind of went downhill after that."

Angela glances back over her shoulder one more time. "Wow."

"Yeah," I say. "Wow."

* * *

 **Hey, guys. Thanks so much for reading. See you next time.  
**

 **xx Vic**


	16. Chapter 16

**Heyyyyyyyy... Very long time, no see. Way, way too long.**

 **I'll explain a bit more down below, so for now, I'll just apologise, and hope you enjoy the chapter.**

 **In case you need a refresher, this picks up right where the last one ended, when Bella overhears Mike and Edward fighting after gym class.**

 **Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 **21 October 2011**

"Bella?"

My voice rings with a dull echo down the suddenly quiet hall. It's the kind of _oh-shit_ quiet that only happens when a room full of people simultaneously think 'Oh, shit'.

Shit. Shit shit shit. Has she been there the whole time?

Her eyes meet mine, and my stomach drops out, and swings up and churns around a bit, just to be on the safe side. Did she hear everything? She's looking at me in a way she never really has before, and my inexperience with her current state of mind means I don't know what the fuck to say.

She turns back to Angela, and says, "Uhm. We can go."

Angela's response takes a second, but once it does, she says it quickly. "Okay," she goes, nodding vigorously.

As they walk past, I try to catch Bella's eye, but she faces forward and avoids me completely. That's probably not great.

Emmett watches them as they leave; as the door swings back, he turns to Mike. "Nice going, genius."

"What?" Mike raises his eyebrows dismissively. "How is that my fault? She blends into the fucking wall. It's not like you guys saw her, either."

I want to punch his face in. He's always a little shit, but today he's really something else.

Emmett gives me a warning look, so I take a deep breath and casually imagine bashing Mike in the head with his stupid gym bag instead.

"Well, whatever," Emmett says. "Just chill out, all right? Seriously, that could've been Coach instead of Angela, and then both of you would've been fucked." He claps me on the shoulder after saying this. I know he's trying to make me feel shame or remorse or something, but at the moment I really don't care. I'd gladly get in trouble with Coach if it meant I could make Newton cry like a baby.

Perhaps sensing this, Emmett changes his clap to a grip, and pulls me away from Mike. "Come on, let's go."

"Later," Mike says sarcastically, to show us how he's so super fucking cool and superior.

"He's such a tool," I say as we walk out the door, not giving a shit if he hears me.

"Yeah, well, he always has been," Emmett replies. I can feel him glancing at me, but I keep my eyes on the ground. I know Bella isn't that far ahead of us, and if I start looking for her, I won't be able to stop, which might make Em suspicious, so the ground it is. "You don't usually care that much."

I shrug like a brat, which I'm sure helps tremendously in not making him suspicious.

He's silent for a moment as we walk, matching my pace like he usually does, even though he could be halfway across the parking lot in two steps. "He's kind of right, though. She does blend into walls."

I snap my head up. "What? Come on."

"Not like in a bad way," he says, looking sincere. "She's really good at it. She could be a spy or something."

"Don't be stupid," I say, turning away just in time to catch Bella and Angela reaching the stairs leading up to the main building and disappearing behind the bushes. Dammit.

"What?" he says. "Like you know her career aspirations. Maybe she wants to join the CIA or whatever."

I actually know that she has no idea what she wants to do, which she pretends only freaks her out about a quarter as much as it actually does. But, again, suspicions must be tamed here.

"I guess."

"Wouldn't that be cool?" he goes on, getting a look in his eyes that usually only appears when he talks about stuff he thinks would be cool, like owning a Bugatti or moving to Alaska and having a team of sled dogs. "Like, we all come back for our 10-year reunion, and she's all 'I'm sorry, I can't talk about work — that's classified information.'" He raises both eyebrows as he smiles at me. "Right?"

"Sure."

He nods to himself. "Her dad's a cop, too. I bet he's taught her all kinds of stuff."

"Pretty sure the Chief of Police in Forks hasn't been teaching his daughter tricks of the trade."

"I don't know, man — Chief Swan looks like the kind of guy who knows some shit, you know? I bet they have a secret panic room or something."

"You watch too much TV," I say, bounding up the steps towards the school.

"No such thing. Anyway, all I'm saying is, she's a cool chick. I mean, a little quiet, but… Jasper says she's really funny. Which reminds me, we're not giving him enough shit about the chess club thing."

I glance back at him, but he's not looking at me. I don't know if this makes me nervous or relieved. "Yeah."

"Has he made you look at that stupid World of Warcraft chess set thing he wants from ebay? It's like two hundred dollars! He's lost his mind."

"Yeah, it's pretty stupid," I say, reaching the front doors and pushing them open. Bella's nowhere to be seen. What if she's really mad at me? I don't actually know a lot about girls, despite growing up with Alice, so it feels like a very tangible possibility she might be mad at me. Will she still come over after school?

I could maybe text her, but something tells me ' _Hey, I know you're probably mad at me, but are you still coming over later so we can make out?_ ' isn't going to fix this situation.

The thought gnaws away at me for the rest of the afternoon. I check my phone way too much. She doesn't text me, and I don't know what to say, so I don't either, which I know is bad and is either freaking her out or pissing her off more. Why am I not better at this?

I only just manage to bring my focus back around during practice, even though it's mostly to stop myself from punching Mike in the face in a moment of weakness.

I hurry out to my car when we're done, waving bye to the guys as I get my phone out again. I stare at it as I walk, and before I can think about it too much, I shoot her a quick, ' **See you in 30?'** before stuffing it safely back in my bag, which I toss in the back seat. I can't keep my fingers from tapping on the wheel as I drive home.

I almost leave my bag in the car. If it's in the car, I can't check my phone, and if I can't check my phone, I won't ever have to know if she's ignoring me or not. It's too much of a dick move for me to follow through with it, though. I still wait until I'm in the kitchen before taking a look.

' **Yeah, just dropping stuff at home.** '

I stare at the screen. I can't even be relieved she's not ignoring me, because I don't know what this means. She's coming over — that's a good sign. And her texts have always been straightforward, so it's not an unusual response from her. But I was expecting an unusual response, not the same kind of stuff she texts me all the time.

I think I kind of want her to be mad at me. Maybe because I'm mad at me. I'm mad I let Mike get to me like that, and I want Bella to be mad about it, too, so we can be mad together. Being mad is just a slightly violent way of saying you give a shit.

That might be the bare bones of it. I'd rather she be mad at me than say she doesn't care what Mike said. I don't think I could bear watching her just brush this off like it's nothing.

I putter around the house while I wait for her to show up. I'm standing in front of the open fridge, a piece of string cheese in my hand, when there's a knock at the kitchen door.

Turning, I can just see her through the frosted glass, her coat a dark green smudge. I eat the last bite of cheese as I walk over. When I open the door, she's smiling. Not exactly what I expected.

"Hey," I say, stepping aside to let her in.

Despite the smile, she looks away from me as she steps forward, eyes flitting around the kitchen. "Hi."

I close the door, and the click of the hatch is awkwardly loud. It hits me how quiet the house is. No one else is home yet, so all the sounds of activity are missing. It's not raining outside, so there's nothing in the background. I didn't turn the TV on while I waited for her, so that's gone, too.

The silence seems to pull all the air out of the room and fill the space between us with cotton, instead.

She's casting her eyes around the place, hands in the pockets of her coat. I wait for a beat, and the cotton scratches at my face as it expands.

"How was chess club?" I blurt, just for something to say.

She looks up, pulled out of her reverie. "Oh, it was good. The usual." She pauses, shifting on her feet. "Uhm. Jasper finally bought this chess set he's been wanting for a while. It's like a—"

"World of Warcraft set."

She blinks with a small smile. It's like a flat-pack smile. Ready to assemble. "Right. Guess he's showed it to you too, huh?"

"Yeah." I smile back, but I know it looks forced, same as hers. All the things we're not saying get tangled in the fibers. I want to just get it over with, ask her what she heard, what she thought, if she's mad or hurt. But her walls are up and holding steady, and I'd prefer to talk to _her_ , rather than the bricks. I can't climb over it or dig beneath until she helps me out and points out a weak spot, and right now she really doesn't want to.

She looks down at the floor, rocking ever so slightly back on her heels. "Uhm. Mom wants to have you over for dinner sometime."

I raise my eyebrows at the subject change. "Oh. Why?"

She shrugs. "I don't know, she just mentioned it now." She vaguely gestures back in the direction of her house. "I was just asking about watching a movie here, you know, and she said it was fine, but then she was like 'Edward should come over for dinner' and, yeah. I don't know."

My smile now is far more genuine. "I'd like that."

She laughs, and it's like cracking a window, just a bit. Some air flows back into the room, brushing the cotton away from my face. "You say that now," she mutters, finally shrugging out of her coat.

"What?" I laugh, taking it from her and leading the way out of the kitchen. She follows me at a steady pace.

"No, I just… I don't think you realize how awful it would be."

"Why would it be awful?" I ask as I hang her coat up by the front door. She comes next to me and toes her shoes off.

"Because it's dinner with just me and my parents."

I raise an eyebrow and wait. She notices and raises one right back at me.

"Like, _just_ me and my parents."

"So?"

" _So_ , it's not like having dinner with your family. You guys are like, loud and funny and crazy. The Swans really aren't."

"You're a little bit crazy," I correct her, and she waves it away with her hand.

"Yeah, but in a bad way. I'm telling you, dinner at my place would be super awkward. It's literally just us sitting at the table while Mom talks to herself. Dad and I just nod along and eat."

I snort and, pointing around her, lead the way up the stairs. "So I'll just talk to your Mom. Problem solved."

"You really shouldn't do that. Where do you think I get my crazy from?"

"But I like your crazy," I say, glancing back at her. She tries to hide her pleased smile at that.

"Yeah, but mine's diluted by Dad's genes. Hers is just… fully saturated."

"Noted. I'm still pretty sure it'll be fine." I've reached my bedroom, and I push the door open for her to walk through. I watch her closely as she does — she didn't come up here last time she was over, so she's never seen it before. Her eyes sweep across the corners, the walls, taking everything in.

I keep it clean of my comic book stuff. At first it was so when my friends came over, they wouldn't see it and make fun of me, but now it's just because everything is out in the tree-house.

Almost everything, anyway. Bella makes her way over to my bookcase, raising her hand and brushing a finger over the McDonald's Happy Meal Hulk toy nestled in between a copy of _Hamlet_ from English last year, and a photo album Mom gave me when I turned fifteen.

I made Bella go by herself to get the toys, because I was too embarrassed. It was almost two years ago, when we'd first started hanging out. She got the Iron Man one.

"You kept this," she murmurs, glancing at me over her shoulder. I lean in the doorway, smiling back in response. I know she kept hers too; I saw it in her room.

I watch her take everything in. Take _me_ in, seeing me in all the things I choose to keep and display in my space. Her gaze slips and snags on my bed before pushing past it.

She turns in a slow circle, eyes finally landing back on me. "I like your room," she says, echoing my own words from the other day.

"Thanks." I push off the doorway and head for my desk. She goes back to checking out my books while I open my laptop and put some music on. Just low, for the background to occupy itself with.

She glances back at me over her shoulder, a question in her expression as her fingers hover over the photo album. I nod with a smile, and she pulls it out, bringing it with her to my bed where she sits down, leg folded underneath her. I take a seat in my chair, fingers crossed over my stomach.

She reads the note Mom wrote on the inside of the cover. "What's a 'Punkin'?"

I rub a hand through my hair with an embarrassed laugh. "I, uh, I couldn't really say 'pumpkin' when I was little, so I just kinda said punkin. Mom thought it was cute or whatever, and it kind of stuck."

"Oh my god, that's adorable."

"It's really not."

"Yes, it is. Does your mom call you that all the time?"

"No," I laugh.

"I'm going to write it in your yearbook," she says, smirking at me before turning back to the photo album.

"You wouldn't dare," I say, grinning, but she pretends to ignore me. I let her.

She's carefully thorough as she looks through the pictures; the album rests in her lap, her hair slipping over a shoulder as she hunches over it. She smiles, bringing her hand up to her mouth.

"You were cute," she says, eyes cutting up to me for only a second.

I crane my neck, trying to see which photo she's looking at. It's the one from mine and Alice's second birthday. Like a terrible cliché, I'm waving a fist full of cake around with a happy grin. Alice is next to me, crying, and you can see Dad's hands, out of focus and blurred just as he's reaching out to grab her.

"Still am, some might say," I reply, throwing her an exaggerated wink. She rolls her eyes with a snort.

As she flips through the album, and the music fills the space between us, I can feel the cotton wool coming back. But it's not in the room now, it's inside me, pushing up my throat.

I want to talk about what happened, so we can get it over with and move on to other stuff. She's sitting on my bed, in my empty house, for god's sake. There's so much _other stuff_ we should be doing. I just don't want Mike Newton shambling around like the moronic elephant in the room while we do.

She's at the picture of my first day at school by the time I've gathered my courage enough to speak.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?" she mumbles, seemingly only half-listening.

"Do we need to talk about today?"

She frowns down at my album. "Today?"

"Gym."

Her whole body freezes for a second. She cuts her eyes up to me and, feigning confusion, says, "Gym?"

I pin her with a stare. "Newton. Do we need to talk about Newton?"

She immediately turns back to the album, shaking her head. "Nope."

Exhaling roughly, I roll my chair over and lift the album out of her lap.

"Hey," she snaps, and I hold it out of her reach as she tries to grab for it.

"Bella."

"What?" she huffs, sitting back down and matching my stare with her own. The skin around her eyes is tight. "No, we don't need to talk about Newton. I'm fine. It was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing," I insist, dropping the album on the floor. Why does she have to be so stubborn all the time?

"You seem more upset about it than me," she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Well, maybe _I'm_ not fine," I say. "And maybe I want to talk about the dick who insulted my girlfriend."

My stomach spasms as I realize I just called her my girlfriend. I haven't done that before. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice, glaring back at me in stony silence instead.

But as the seconds pass, as I refuse to back down, something uncoils in her shoulders, that stubborn steeliness fading away. She tries to hold on to it, I can see that she does. But her ears turn a darker shade of pink, and it's not long before her stare starts to waver.

I roll a little closer, and she looks away, down and to the side.

"Bella," I say again, my voice quiet and careful now. Because something's been burrowing in the back of my mind since gym class, and I really don't know if I want to ask this question, or if I want to hear the answer, but I have to. Mike wasn't just pissed about losing. He was pissed about losing to _Bella,_ specifically, and the burrowing thing is the question of why that is. I can't let it go. "Has… Has Mike ever said anything to you that you haven't told me about? Or… done something?"

To my horror, she seems to grow a little smaller, hunching inwards. My neck grows cold while something in my chest begins to burn, and I have to keep from clenching my fists.

I do my best to wait, watching as she wrestles with herself. I know how hard this sort of thing is for her, and even though I want to push, it would just make it worse. So I wait.

Finally, she takes a slow breath. The color is high in her cheeks, and she keeps her eyes firmly trained on her lap. "It wasn't— I've told you most things. I just didn't…" But instead of saying what she didn't, she shakes her head and trails off with a shrug. "It doesn't matter. I guess I didn't want to think about it too much, or whatever."

Here her eyes finally flicker up to mine before quickly finding other points of purchase around the room. "Remember… You know how, a couple of weeks ago, there was that thing in Government? When Mike and I had to work together?"

I swallow tightly and nod. I definitely remember that. Austin wouldn't shut up about it during that whole practice. I asked Bella about it during our walk that night. She told me pretty much the same story I'd heard from Austin and Taylor, so I assumed that was all there was to it.

"I didn't stick around to hear what Mr. Jefferson said to him," she says. "After class, I mean. But I guess he didn't like it very much, whatever it was. He… He tracked me down in the hallway, afterwards. He was pretty pissed. And he grabbed me."

She pauses at my sharp inhale. When she speaks again, she looks at me, face open and honest, her voice laid bare. "And then he told me I should've kept my mouth shut, like he told me to during class. And he called me a bitch."

Her mouth quirks slightly, but she doesn't look amused. "I guess he wanted to really make a point though, because he was the reason I fell in the parking lot later." She spreads her hands, showing me her palms. The scrapes are all but faded now, but I remember what they looked like that night. The burning in my chest grows hotter, spreading to my stomach and up my neck. "He walked into me really hard. Knocked me over."

I reach for her hands, and she lets me take them.

"I don't think he likes me," she finishes, the corner of her mouth pulling up in an attempted smile. It quickly fades.

"Bella… you have to tell someone." I fight to keep my voice steady.

"I just did," she says, half-joking, but I shake my head. I'm too angry, and I don't want to hear her brush this off.

"No, I mean someone like a teacher. Like Coach, or Principal Green. They can—"

She shakes her head right back at me. "No."

I sit up straighter, staring at her incredulously. "No? You have t—"

"I don't have to do anything." Her voice comes out with a bite, her eyes flashing. But she softens back right away, as if her anger surprised her. She squeezes my fingers in apology. "Telling someone is going to make it worse," she continues, in a more even tone.

Probably seeing the protest building on my face, she leans closer, looking back and forth between my eyes. "Think about it, Edward. Even if I tell someone, what are they going to do? At worst, he'll get a slap on the wrist and big speech about how he should play nice," she says, sarcasm bleeding into her voice. "You know what happens when Mike gets told off. You did it today, and Coach did it, too. He gets embarrassed, and when he's embarrassed, he gets angry."

"So?" I say, anger bleeding into _my_ voice. I know she's right, but that's seriously not reason enough to let him get away with this shit. "Let him get angry. It'll prove your point, and then he'll get more than a slap on the wrist."

"Maybe. But either way, he'll blame me," she says. "He'll think it's my fault he was treated like a child, or whatever. And he'll hate me more."

"So you're just going to let him keep being an asshole?"

She sighs, shaking her head. "No, I— I don't know."

"Bella, this is serious."

"I know."

"He's bullying you."

She furrows her brows. "I wouldn't go that far."

"Bell—"

"Look, if it gets worse, I'll tell someone," she interrupts. "Obviously. But until then, I… I'll just have to stand up for myself. Maybe if I stop reacting like he wants me to, he'll get bored and leave me alone."

I look at her. We both know that's not going to happen.

I hate all of this. I hate the idea of her being treated like this by a fucking shithead like Mike, and I hate that I haven't seen the signs of it sooner. I hate that it's taken me this long to ask her.

Her eyes drift over my face, and with a sudden, soft smile, she reaches up and smooths her thumb between my eyebrows, trying to push my scowl away. Her tension breaks, sending my own into a wobble, however much I want to keep it steady.

"And who knows, maybe what you did after Gym will be enough," she says. "Maybe now that he knows he won't get away with saying stuff like that, he'll stop."

"You think so?" I say, trying to convey with my tone how I'm very much not convinced.

"What? You never know. You intimidate him, and he's not as brave as he wants people to think he is."

I blink at her. My tension wobbles harder, until I finally lose control of it. It bursts, leaving me with only a faint shimmer of surprise.

"What?"

"What?"

"I intimidate him? Since when?"

"Uh, since _always_?" She raises her eyebrows at me, and I respond with a dubious face.

"Oh, come on, you know you do. You're a better player, you're team-captain, and you get better grades. You've been taller than him since pre-school. Plus, all the girls at school like you."

My own eyebrows jump up, and I blink at her a few more times. "They do?"

She makes a face and pinches my arm.

"Ow! What was that for?" I try to pull away, but she holds onto my hand.

" _Almost_ all the girls," she say, ignoring me. "Especially Lauren, and everyone knows Mike's tried to date her since she grew boobs, but she barely looks at him."

I laugh at this. "Oh, come on. Lauren doesn't like me."

"Oh my god," she grumbles, dropping my hand. She uncurls her legs and gets off the bed. I snag her arm, pulling her back.

"Where are you going?"

"Lauren likes you. How can you not know that?" she mutters, half-heartedly pushing against my shoulder as I wrap my hands around her elbows.

"How do _you_ know she does?"

"Oh, please, the whole school knows."

I stare up at her. "Lauren doesn't like me," I state firmly.

Her eyes bug wide. "Yes, she does! Are you blind or something? She's always like, touching your arm, and laughing at everything you say, and she does this—" She pushes her arms in towards her chest, and I immediately lose my train of thought "—a lot."

I stare at her chest. "Do that again."

"Are you serious? No. Ask Lauren to do it. I'm sure she'll be more than happy to," she says, trying to pull out of my grasp.

"But I don't want Lauren to do it," I say, rising from my chair. She stumbles back a step and then protests as I turn us and walk forward.

Her calves hit the bed, and I keep pushing. She falls with a yelp, clutching at my arms, and I fall with her, laughing as I catch myself on my hands.

"Edward! What are you doing?" She's exasperated. It's priceless.

She tries to wiggle out from under me, but I quickly shift to straddle her thighs.

"Where are you going?" I ask again, poking her side. She slaps my hand away, but I just do it on her left, twice in swift succession. She flinches, choking down a giggle as she tries to glare up at me.

I flutter my fingers against her ribs, and she grabs for my wrist.

"Edward, no," she warns, even as my other hand darts towards her stomach. "No!"

"Yes," I say, easily breaking her hold. Before she can take a full breath, I dive in, and her shriek comes out strangled and weird, shifting immediately into hysterical laughter as I tickle her.

Shouting at me to stop, she tries to roll away, but my knees hold her in place. Her face turns red, tears leak from her eyes, and she's laughing so hard she's shaking under me.

"I'm going to die!"

"No, you're not!" I shout back. Bending down, I put my mouth against her neck and blow as hard as I can.

She kicks her legs and screams at the top of her lungs, and I reel back, eyes scrunched shut. "Jesus, right in the ear," I laugh.

"Stop, stop, stop," she begs me.

"No, look at you, you're laughing. You like it!"

She says something in response, but her laughter makes it completely unintelligible.

Finally she manages to get her arms in between us, and before I can react, she pushes against my chest while twisting away from me. Hopefully unintentionally, her knee comes dangerously close to smacking into my groin, and it's this more than anything that makes me flinch away until I'm sitting up straight. I wobble on the unsteady surface of my mattress, and taking advantage, she gives another push on my chest.

My knees slip off the end of the bed, and with a shout I throw my arms out, but still end up with my ass on the floor. She immediately rolls away, staggering to her feet and grabbing the back of my chair. She's gasping for breath, still giggling hysterically as she backs away, keeping the chair in front of her like a barrier.

I fall back and throw an arm over my eyes, laughing until my stomach hurts. Without lowering my arm, I reach my other hand out towards her.

"No way," she says, setting me off again.

"I'm sorry, I'll stop," I laugh. "I'm sorry."

"You're such an asshole."

"I know," I wheeze, wiping at my eyes. With some effort, I stagger to my knees and get back on the bed, collapsing onto my back.

I drop my arm against my chest, looking at her. Her breathing is coming under control, but her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright, and her hair is a mess. She looks so beautiful it makes my heart pang.

"I'm serious, I'll stop," I chuckle, trying to take deep, even breaths. "You almost kneed me in the balls."

"Good," she mutters. "Asshole."

But even so, she cautiously steps away from the chair, approaching the bed once again. I laugh quietly, holding my hands up in surrender.

She crawls back on the bed. I turn onto my side, folding my arm beneath my head as she lies down to face me.

"That was mean," she says, and I put my finger against the clear contradiction to her words – the corner of her mouth, raised in a smile.

"Yeah, but it was fun." I grin, sliding my hand to her neck and leaning in to kiss her.

She make a vague noise of agreement and hooks a finger in the neckline of my shirt.

We lie here for a while, our breathing soon evening out. I rub gentle circles with my thumb against her neck. After a moment, I speak into the space between us, not bothering with a preamble; she'll know what I mean.

"Thank you. For telling me. And I'm sorry."

She nods, but doesn't say anything in response. Maybe she doesn't need to.

I lean in and kiss her again, pulling her a little bit closer. Her hand brushes against my neck as she finds my jaw, one of her fingers digging lightly into the soft space behind the corner of it.

Inevitably, my thoughts get muddied the longer her lips are on mine, and I deepen the kiss without thinking about it, sliding my hand into the back of her hair. For a moment, she grows soft, arching her back closer to me, but then she loosens her hold. To my disappointment, she pulls away, and I worry I've done something wrong.

But when I open my eyes, I'm met with the sight of her cheeks blushing pink, and her eyes trained firmly on my chest. She looks indecisive, which is the last thing I want her to be when she's on my bed.

I duck my head, trying to catch her eye. "What?"

"You called me your girlfriend before," she says, foregoing her own preamble. I really wish she hadn't.

I freeze. Feeling like she just punched me in the gut, I swallow tightly. I guess she noticed after all. "Uhm. Yeah. I did."

She chews on her lip, a small furrow between her brows. "Is that— I mean…"

"Do you want to?" I blurt, like an actual dumbass.

Her eyes meet mine – not in delight, like I would've hoped, but in confusion. "What?"

Feeling even more like a dumbass, I explain, "D'you… Do you want to be my, uh, girlfriend?"

I'm overwhelmed by my own smoothness.

For a second, her expression doesn't change at all. But then her lips twitch, and her eyes relax, and I don't even need to see it all come together into a smile; I know it's coming and the relief I feel is so overwhelming I break out in a huge grin before she has a chance.

I hope it's that which makes her laugh and not my question, but it doesn't matter. She follows her laugh with a nod. "Yeah," she adds, for clarification.

"Okay," I say, kissing her immediately. And then a few more times after that, just to be on the safe side. She giggles against my lips.

"I guess that makes me your boyfriend," I say, and her fingers tighten on my neck.

"I guess so."

And then I can only assume she doesn't want to talk any more, as her tightened fingers pull me, all too willingly, back to her.

* * *

 **So, basically, this chapter is super delayed because I broke my wrist back in December (guy on a skateboard crashed into me as I got off a bus, and I caught myself with my outstretched hand), and I was in a cast for six weeks. Typing was pretty tricky and exhausting, so I got out of the habit of writing, and it's taken me way longer than I would've liked to get back into the swing of things.  
**

 **I promise I'll try not to break any other limbs any time soon.**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for reading - both the chapter, and this note. I hope you enjoyed it (the chapter, not the note).**

 **Until next time,**

 **Vic xx**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

 **21 October 2011**

"Are you hungry?"

"No, I'm okay. Thanks." I turn the page of the comic book he's reading over my shoulder.

Edward nods, shifting his legs on either side of me. I twist my head back so I can look at him.

"Why? Are you?"

"I mean, yeah, but that's like a constant."

I straighten up, taking my weight off his chest. "You can get something to eat, if you want. I don't mind."

He tightens his arms around my stomach and pulls me back. "I'm okay. This is way too comfortable to get up."

Smiling, I burrow further back into his chest. His room is a little chilly, and he's so warm and cozy in contrast, so I'm inclined to agree. He rests his chin on my shoulder, essentially pinning me in place.

I really don't mind.

This having-a-boyfriend thing is working out well for me so far.

I smother a small yawn, and when Edward softly taps a finger against my stomach a moment later, I turn the page for him. The house is super quiet around us, and I could fall asleep just like this; it's been a long day, and this afternoon hasn't exactly been a walk in the park, emotionally. Plus, using Edward as a heated body pillow feels much better than I thought it would.

And I've thought about it. A lot.

I'm practically dozing off when Edward takes a deep breath, moving me with his chest.

"So… Jasper's Halloween party."

It takes a moment before this combination of words clicks into place for me. I incline my head slightly toward his, blinking as my eyes do their best to come into focus. "What about it?"

"You're not going, are you?"

I snort. "That predictable, am I?"

"Only to people who've met you."

"Shut up."

His smile is clear in his voice. "You just said yes because he took you by surprise, didn't you?"

I laugh. "Yeah. Everyone was staring at me. I didn't know what to do."

"Hmm," he breathes into my hair. "I knew it was weird you agreed so easily."

"Right? When you can barely get me to share a car with you to Port Angeles." I lean my head back on his shoulder so I can see him. God, he smells so good. "Were you jealous?"

"It was actually more like admiration," he tells me, directing his focus to the ceiling. I stare at the underside of his chin.

"Of Jasper?"

"Yeah. And now I can add gratitude to the mix, because he's taught me the secret. All it takes is an element of surprise, staring at you until you panic, and then bam – you'll agree to anything." He grins to himself. "I could get you to go to prom with me. I'm going to remember that."

"You're an idiot."

He chuckles as I laugh, adjusting his arms around me to keep me steady.

"You want me to go to prom with you?" I ask while my laughter slowly simmers down.

He shrugs, ducking his head to hide his face against my neck. I think he's hiding, anyway.

"A guy can dream, right?" he mumbles against my skin, making me snort. He raises his head and grins at me.

I put the comic book to the side. He's trying to play it off, but I can tell there's something genuine in what he's saying. "If I say that I want to go to prom with you, but I don't want to go to _prom_ , do you know what I mean?"

While his eyes roam my face, his lips soften from a grin into a smile. "I think so."

"I wish prom meant 'Dress up, and then stay home watching Iron Man with your boyfriend.'" My stomach flutters at calling him that aloud, and to his face. "I'd be okay with that."

"Me too."

We're quiet for a moment before I lightly press my head against his. I take a fortifying breath."Do you want to go to prom? The real one?"

He pauses, giving it some thought. "I think… Maybe?" He shrugs a little, and while rubbing his thumb absently across my side, continues, "If I can go with you."

My heart both sinks and squeezes happily, because I don't want to go to prom, but he's so fucking cute when he says stuff like this. I groan, "You're killing me."

"That would be counterproductive to securing my prom-date," he murmurs into my hair, bending further to press a kiss against my neck.

I bite my lip as I deliberate. "If I say yes now, will it be with the understanding that I'll most likely freak out and decide not to go like an hour before we have to leave?"

I feel his grin against my neck. "Absolutely."

"And you won't get mad?"

"No. I'll just get popcorn for our movie-night."

My grin matches his. "Then I guess you've got yourself a date."

He presses his lips to my neck again, squeezing his arms around my middle. "You realize this means we need to like, stop being a secret couple before prom, right?"

I straighten up and twist around to face him as much as I can, still bracketed by his legs. He leans his head back against his headboard as he watches me.

"I know I'm unreasonable at the best of times, but did you really think I wanted to keep hiding this from everyone for the rest of the school year? I definitely want to stop way before prom. I thought that was part of the plan."

"Well, then maybe you should come to the Halloween party."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

He shrugs, picking up my hand to rub my knuckles with his thumb. "I don't know. We can hang out there. Move the friendship thing along."

Just imagining myself at the party has me suppressing the urge to squirm. The only non-family party I've ever been to was Jacob Black's fifth birthday. I was the only girl there, and his older sisters took pity on me and let me play in their rooms. I curl my fingers around his. "Do you want me there?"

"Yeah," he says, unapologetic.

"Oh." I knew that, but I wasn't expecting him to be so up front about it.

He studies me closely. Without sounding judgmental, but like he's actually curious, he asks, "What makes you nervous about it? Like what specifically?"

Looking away, I shrug uncomfortably. "I don't know. It just does. I feel like people would think it was weird if I went. It's not like I hang out with anyone, so I wouldn't exactly be showing up to socialize and whatever. And then it's like, why _am_ I there? You know?"

He nods, conceding, but he still seems disappointed. "Yeah. I guess."

I feel bad. The fact that he wants me to go feels so good, but I don't know if I'm brave enough to promise him I will. I don't even know if I can promise to try. I curl my legs up a little tighter so I can lean closer to him.

"I can think about it, though," I say, and when he smiles, eyes lit up in something close to pride, I press my lips to the corner of his.

"So what are you dressing up as?" I ask, shifting my arm so I can rest it on his shoulder and play with the hair at his neck.

He smirks, letting one of his hands drop to my lower thigh. "A ghost."

"Seriously? Again?"

"What? It's my trademark move."

"A sheet over your head is a trademark move?"

"Yeah."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm pretty sure there'll be a few five-year-olds walking down the streets doing the exact same thing on Monday."

"They're jacking my style. Those little shits."

"Oh my god," I laugh. "You can't say that."

"Well, as long as you don't tell anyone, who's going to know?"

I roll my eyes, and he laughs as he bends closer to kiss me. A warmth blooms in my chest, and I press towards him, deepening the kiss for a moment. And then another moment. And two more moments, just to be sure.

When we pull back, his pupils are wide and dark, and I can see his throat move as he swallows. My pulse thuds in my ears, a flush rising up my cheeks.

He adjusts his hands on me, fingers curling around my thigh as he slips the other up my back. There's restraint in the way he touches me, just like there is in the way I touch him back. We both reached our limits earlier, when we were kissing after he almost tickled me to death and then asked me to be his girlfriend. We were teetering on a line neither one of us felt brave enough to cross first, I think. That's when Edward dug out the comic and we settled in to catch our breath, in more ways than one. I'm starting to lose it again now, though.

I forget sometimes how new this thing between us actually is, and while part of me doesn't want to wait or hold back, a bigger part is relieved that we do. But that bigger part sounds really kind of boring and stupid when I'm practically sitting on Edward's lap.

I twist his hair between my fingers, forcing my mind to clear some of the fog away.

"Have you ever considered being a bit more creative with your costume?"

He licks his lips. The hand on my thigh twitches. "Not really."

"Didn't you tell me you were going to dress up as Captain America? What happened to that?"

He grins, remembering that moment in his kitchen. "Yeah, but that was before you said you didn't think he was hot. Plans changed."

"Well, if I'm not going to be there anyway, what's the problem?"

"That I'd have to wear a leotard is a pretty big problem."

"Hmm." Feeling uncharacteristically bold, I drift my lips across the line of his jaw. He swallows. "You could be a cowboy?"

"Pass."

"Zombie?"

"Pass."

"Magneto?"

"Pa— Oh. Wait, that'd actually be cool."

"Right? You could have magnets under your clothes and stick forks to yourself."

He laughs loudly, jostling me slightly where I lean against him. He slips his hand down to my knee and, fingers curling around it, hikes it a little higher. "Tell you what, I'll dress up as Magneto if you show up as Mystique."

He leans it to kiss me. I rear back.

"Excuse me? Like, blue and naked?"

"God, yes," he groans, exaggerating. I roll my eyes.

"I don't really think that would help me blend in."

He pretends to be disappointed. "That's true."

"Also, I don't really want to be naked in front of everyone."

"As your newly established boyfriend, I'd have to say I'm happy about that."

"So if you weren't my boyfriend, you wouldn't mind?"

He shrugs. "If I weren't your boyfriend, I'd sit there and enjoy the show with everyone else."

I gape for a second, and then punch his shoulder. "Edward!"

"What?" he laughs, letting his hand slide from my back to the hem of my shirt. He toys with it for a moment before slipping his fingertips just inside, touching my bare skin. I'm immediately and ridiculously distracted.

"You can't say that."

"Why not?"

I blush furiously. "Because."

"Because?" He grins, unfairly not blushing at all. The least he could do is be a little bit embarrassed. "That's not a very good reason. If there are naked girls, I'm interested."

"But it wouldn't be naked girls. It'd be naked _me_."

"Even better," he murmurs, sliding those fingertips even further under my shirt. He meets my eyes and holds them, articulating very clearly how serious he is.

I swallow with some effort. "What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, because he's making me stupid with his hands and his words and his face.

He grins, but it's a type of grin I've never really seen from him before. It's… sexy. It's so sexy it almost hurts, and I can't tear my eyes away from his mouth. My lungs feel funny. "It means I think you're hot."

My brain seems to melt.

"I'm hot." That was supposed to come out as more of a question.

"You're hot," he confirms, nodding once. "I say that both objectively, as a guy, and very subjectively, as your boyfriend."

"My boobs are nonexistent," I object. It'd probably be more effective if I wasn't slightly breathless.

"That's really not true," he says, and his fingertips slide up my spine, up and up, sending gooseflesh erupting down my arms, and making it impossible for me to release the air in my lungs. But then it comes whooshing out all at once when his fingers reach the clasp of my bra.

He watches me and I watch him, his fingers investigating just underneath it. He's touched me here before, but never under my shirt, never directly on my skin. I shiver, feeling the area across my chest tighten, just as his other hand tightens on my leg.

Then his fingers are moving, following the band of my bra around the side of my back, around my ribs, and his arm is lifting my shirt away from me. In its place, cool air rushes in against my stomach. My muscles contract, and I clench my fingers tighter in his hair.

He traces the outer curve of the cup to the top, pausing for a moment to play with the silly little bow where the strap connects to the rest. His eyes drop to my mouth, and he seems to be breathing a bit heavier.

His palm slowly settles over me, the heat of his hand sinking through the single layer of fabric separating us. I abruptly lose my patience, and any restraint I felt half an hour ago. Edward's officially been brave enough to cross the next line and I'm right there with him.

I kiss him, hard and deep, winding both arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. He groans, and it's awkward, the way we're sitting, squashed up against each other with his legs on either side of me and his hand wedged between us, so he pulls it free and wraps his arm around my back, and before I know it, he's pushing us sideways, bracing me against his chest as we fall against the bed.

I squeal against his mouth and then laugh as I nearly tip right off the side, my head falling almost too far out for my center of gravity to keep me balanced. But he pulls me back and shifts us further towards the middle of his bed, swallowing my laugh with his own, until there's nothing but firm mattress and a bunched cover under me.

Our feet kick and push against his pillows to make room for our legs, and I hear one fall to the floor. He's kissing me again, his tongue warm in my mouth, and his whole body is on top of mine in a way it's never been before. There's a brief moment of confusion and giggles as I try and fail to pull my legs free from under him, but when he gets my drift he raises himself up on his hands and feet, giving me space to move.

He looks down at me, smiling and breathing fast, his lips on the verge of looking puffed and red. I grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him back down, and it's so very different now, when he's the one between my thighs, rather than the other way around. He hesitates, holding his hips away from pressing fully against mine, but I cross that line without looking back, slipping my hand down to the waist of his jeans and tugging him the rest of the way.

He grunts against my mouth as he settles, and my heart trips and thuds in my chest. It's like I can't breathe, and I clutch the back of his head, his hair slipping through my fingers. He's pressed to me from our chests to our stomachs to our hips, and he's so heavy and warm and perfect.

Dragging his mouth away, he dips until his lips find the skin over my collarbone. Heat darts through my stomach, a feeling like being nervous, but much further down. I've felt this before, but never with someone, never in response to what they're doing, and it's so much better this way.

I feel everything; the small bursts of his breath against my neck, the shift of the bed underneath me, the way his muscles tighten as he slowly rolls his hips into mine once, testing the waters. I sigh unsteadily, arching my back.

He kisses up my throat until his lips are hovering over mine, pulling back and pushing forward again. We both gasp at the same time, the sounds intermingling in the tiny sliver of space left between us.

His movements falter when I push back, and we fumble slightly, no established rhythm to fall into yet, but it doesn't matter. We keep going, moving in any way that feels good, kissing until he pulls away, hissing as he leans his forehead against mine.

His eyes are closed, mouth open, and the sounds we make mix with the rustle of the sheets and our jeans. It's absolutely unreal that he wants me this way, the same way I want him. My chest could break open with happiness.

I murmur his name, and his next thrust is different — slow, but deep, making me gasp sharply. We both open our eyes, twinned looks of surprise mirroring back at each other as we pause. The surprise quickly melts from his eyes, though. He cocks his head slightly to the side, studying me closely. I get why when he repeats the motion, drawing a loud moan out of me. Oh, god.

His eyes flare in triumph, and his lips turn up in a halfway cocky grin as he bends down to kiss me, heavy and deep, taking full advantage of what he's just learned by doing it again, and again, and again. I push up against him, encouraging this new line of study. It feels _so_ good. My heart is going to slam out of my chest, and I—

Downstairs, the front door unmistakably opens and closes with a rumbling thud.

We both freeze, each of our breaths held as we strain to listen. He raises his head and looks towards his door, a half-pleading expression on his face. I clutch at him, as if I can make sure it was nothing by just holding him tightly enough.

A floor down, his Mom calls out for Alice.

"Dammit," he breathes, closing his eyes and dropping his head _._ " _Shit_. Fucking… Crap."

Taking his hands away and rolling off me, he lies on his back for a second, eyes and fists clenched shut. He swears a few more times and then rolls off the bed with a drawn-out groan.

I feel cold without him on top of me, and my brain is still very much foggy. I can only stare at he walks over to the door, unashamedly reaching down to his groin to do what I'm assuming is an adjustment.

"What are you doing?" I ask, rising up on my elbows.

"No closed doors allowed," he says, grimacing as he reaches for the handle.

Oh, god. I scramble off the bed, tugging my shirt back into place and smoothing down my hair. His bed looks… well, it looks exactly like we just made out on it pretty hard. Which is great.

"Yeah. You can thank Alice and Jasper for that."

"Why, because of him falling out of her window and stuff?" I hastily grab the fallen pillow from the floor before shaking out his cover and straightening it as best I can.

He heads over to his desk, unplugging his laptop and bringing it over to the bed.

"Yeah. They made it worse by breaking the rule all the time, though." He looks appropriately uncomfortable with the idea. "So I'm well aware of the punishments in store for me if that door" — he hooks his thumb over his shoulder — "is closed with you on this side of it." He settles back against the headboard, laptop across his knees, and pats the space beside him.

I stay where I am. "But… I mean, when your mom sees me up here, she's going to know, right? She's not stupid."

He smirks and lowers his voice. "Right, but if we're not caught, she can't ground me."

"Oh. Got it," I breathe on a laugh. Settling in beside him, I watch as he opens up a browser and directs it to his favorite comic book website.

My pulse is still tripping through my veins, though, pounding between my legs, and I can't help but lean into him, drawn close by literally everything about him. I can see the muscles of his stomach tightening under his t-shirt. "Edward?"

"Mm?"

"That was really nice," I murmur, reaching out to hook a finger into the pocket of his jeans. I hesitate as other, braver words hover on the edge of things left unsaid, but he turns and looks at me then, and there's a weight in his eyes that encourages me to give them a gentle push. "I'm sad we had to stop."

He freezes, eyes flaring slightly wider, his chest rising as he takes a slow and measured breath. "Me too," he murmurs back, and just as I can hear his Mom start climbing the stairs, his gaze drops to my mouth. He drags his attention away with obvious effort.

"Edward, honey, you home?"

"Yeah!" he shouts, while pulling his laptop closer, probably thinking he's being discreet in covering his hips. I suppress a grin.

I put some respectable space between us before Mrs. Cullen appears in the doorway a moment later. She smiles when she spots me. "Bella! I wondered if the shoes downstairs might be yours."

"Hi, Mrs. Cullen."

"What are you guys up to?" she asks, reaching up to remove her earrings.

This feels like a trick question.

"Nothing much," Edward says, sounding bored. "We were just going to grab a snack. Maybe play some video games?" he adds, turning to me.

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay. Your Dad should be home soon — he's just at the store. He's going to try making curry again, apparently," Mrs. Cullen says, rolling her eyes, and Edward laughs. "You're staying for dinner, right Bella?"

I nod my head. I already checked with Mom when I stopped by at home after school. She was predictably thrilled. "If that's all right?"

"Of course," she says, smiling widely. She turns back to Edward. "Have you heard from your sister? I thought she'd be home by now."

"Me too. She said she wanted to watch a movie with us tonight, but I haven't seen her."

She sighs. "Guess I'll give her a call. I'll see you two downstairs."

She walks away, and Edward closes down his laptop. When Mrs. Cullen's bedroom door closes on the latch, he lolls his head in my direction, holding my eyes.

"Sorry Mom has shitty timing," he whispers.

It's my turn now to take an even and measured breath — my brain immediately goes crazy imagining the things we might've done if we'd been alone for a little while longer. "Yeah, me too."

He swallows heavily, seemingly unaware that he's leaning closer to me. Being very aware of my actions, I lean in to meet him, but then the sound of his mom opening and closing a wardrobe reaches us through the wall connecting their room to his, and we both stop.

His eyes turn rueful, and with a deep sigh, he pushes the laptop to the bed and gets to his feet. "I'm starving," he says, smiling as he holds out his hand.

Responding in kind, I take his hand and let him pull me up. "I could eat," I say, following as he leads the way.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

If I had a curfew, I think it would probably be about half an hour earlier than when Edward eventually walks me home. Becoming a suddenly-social social recluse is a pretty good strategy, in terms of confusing parents so much they forget to slap down some rules and stuff.

He holds the kitchen door open for me, switching on the flashlight once we're outside. He guides us across his backyard and into the trees.

The evening's been really great. I like hanging out with his family — there's more movement and energy than I'm used to. The Cullens are all so animated. Put them all together, and they're loud and kind of crazy. It's exhausting, but the good kind of exhausting.

Alice came home not long after Edward and I had resituated ourselves in the living room, and Dr. Cullen eventually made it home, too. While Edward helped him with the groceries, Alice happily chattered away at me while flipping through their movie collection. She has a way of making you feel part of a conversation she's actually holding all by herself, which works out great for me. All I have to do is nod along.

Their parents ended up watching a bit of the movie with us after dinner, before migrating to the kitchen, and then eventually upstairs. Alice fell asleep in her chair halfway through the film, and I almost did, too. My feet were resting in Edward's lap, and my head was buried in one of the softest cushions of all time. Two things kept me awake: the warmth of Edward's hand on my ankle, and the way he would randomly run a finger along the arch of my foot every now and then, tickling me.

We left Alice in her chair with the credits rolling, after our attempts to wake her up only resulted in semi-conscious mumblings on her part. I wanted to say goodbye properly, since she was technically the one who invited me to movie night in the first place, but Edward pulled me away.

"Honestly, there's no point. She does this all the time. She'll wake up at like three am or something stupid like that." With a twitching little half-grin, he added, "I mean, you're more than welcome to stay that long, if you want. I wouldn't mind."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," I'd mumbled back before leaving him there to go put on my shoes. As much as I would love to stay at his house until the early morning, I don't think my parents would be super thrilled. I'm pretty sure that curfew would be slapped down in no time if I ever did that.

We walk through the woods in easy silence, guided by Edward's flashlight and superior sense of balance. I stop a little ways before the beginning of my yard and take his hand — I can see a light on in our kitchen, and some movement behind the glass. I switch off his flashlight and pull him behind a couple of trees growing close enough together to hide us from sight.

"What are you doing?" he asks, but even in the darkness I can see his smile, and his voice is a low murmur.

"You know what."

I wind my arms around his neck, and he steps closer, bending down to meet me. The kiss is sweet and soft, and he pulls me into him, hands on my hips slipping around my back to hold me tighter.

Eventually he pulls away, though he does it slowly, cupping the back of my head with one hand and placing little kisses on my lips, each one sending a fizzle of warmth straight through my head. I open my eyes in a daze.

"Today's been super weird," I tell him.

He seems taken aback for a second before snorting adorably. "Yeah, you could say that."

"But thank you." My eyes are adjusting to the dark, but even so, I trail my fingers along his jaw as if I'm feeling for where his face is. In truth I just want to touch him as much as possible. "I don't think I really said that before. For standing up for me like that. It… it meant a lot. To me."

I'm glad for the darkness, now. I can blush as much as I want and he'll never know.

His fingers slip through my hair, tucking it softly behind my ear. "No problem. I'm sorry I had to do it at all."

I nod my head. "Me too. But… thank you."

Instead of responding, he kisses me again, deeper than before. His hands hold me tighter, somehow saying everything I'm feeling, without words. I find myself rising up on my toes, trying to get closer.

After a moment I move my lips away and bury my face against his neck instead, hugging him. In thanks, in good night, and just because I feel like it. Just because I feel a lot of things. Things I can't say, can't put into words just yet.

He hugs me back, swinging me gently side to side.

With a long-suffering sigh, he steps back after a minute, placing a final kiss on my lips. "I have to go. You're going to hate me for telling you this, but while I was helping Dad with the groceries earlier, he gave me a talk." He pauses meaningfully. " _The_ talk."

I stare up at him in stunned horror. My brain cannot process this change of direction. "What? _Why_?"

"I don't think we were being as stealthy when Mom came home as I thought we were. She told him to talk to me about it. It was super embarrassing, and I died a little inside."

I cover my face with my hands. "Oh god. I'm never going to your house again. Ever."

He laughs, prying my hands away. "You know what he told me?"

"No, and I don't want to know."

"He said—"

"Edward."

"—and I quote: 'No funny business in the tree-house. I'm serious, Edward. I built that thing myself, and I know it's not structurally sound enough for funny business.'"

"Oh _god_."

"He also advised against doing anything outside, just in general."

"Please stop."

"It's apparently quite unsanitary," he laughs, holding on to my arms as I try to leave.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whine, pushing against him.

"Because I need to leave. I've been gone way longer than it takes to walk to your house, so he might start suspecting I'm ignoring his advice if I don't come home soon. I don't want another lecture."

"Okay, that's fine, but you know what also would've worked? Saying good night, like a normal person."

He grins. "Yeah, but this is more fun for me."

I put my hands on his chest and push him backwards towards his side of the woods, which makes him laugh even harder.

"Oh, come on, physical violence, Bella? Low blow."

"I'll show you physical violence if you don't get your ass back home soon. I'm serious." I give him a final push before dropping my hands from his chest.

"I'm going, I'm going. Just get in the house without tripping over a rock first," he says, flicking his flashlight back on and illuminating the overgrown trail for me.

"Shut up," I advise. "Bye, good night, and promise to never talk to me about this, ever again."

"Bye, good night, and I'll try not to."

I scowl up at him. "Try really hard."

He presses his lips together while nodding gravelly. "I promise to try really hard."

"Also, never say 'funny business' again. Or I'll break up with you."

"Noted."

As much as I really don't want to, I turn and leave with a wave, making my way across my yard. I don't trip over any rocks.

Dad's in the kitchen when I open the door, doing the dishes. "Hey kiddo," he says, suds dripping from his hands.

"Hey."

There's a slight moment of awkward silence as we both struggle to decide whether we need to extend the conversation further than this or not. I know that's what he's doing because it's what I'm doing, and I get it from him.

He bobs his head in a nod out the kitchen window. "Edward walk you home?"

More talking it is.

"Yep," I say, nodding.

He nods in response. 90 percent of our father-daughter communication is done in head movement. "Good. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. It was nice. His dad made a curry."

Both his eyebrows go up. "Oh. Fancy. I didn't think you liked spicy food."

"It wasn't that spicy. It was nice."

"Okay. Well, that's good."

"Yeah."

We stare at each other for a moment, and the silence transforms into mutual understanding. Say what you will about me and Dad, but if there's one thing we're good at, it's appreciating the subtle art of shunning unnecessary talking. Fully at ease, I smile and nod my head at him. "Night."

He smiles and nods right back. "Night, kiddo."

I'm glad Mom's already gone to bed, because too much has happened today for me to deal with her. Dad's easy, but talking to Mom requires mental gymnastics of the kind I'm really not up to right now. I'd fall flat on my face and probably break my neck.

When I get in bed a little while later, I worry I'm too keyed up to fall asleep. But my eyes are heavy and my limbs are boneless within seconds. It's been a very long day, filled with things both bad and so incredibly good. I burrow my head into my pillow, the cover pulled up to my ears, and let my mind amble freely into memories of Edward's lips and hands and easy smiles, taking me far away from the things that don't matter, and sending me gently off to sleep.

* * *

 **Hey, guys. Thanks so much for reading. I appreciate it more than you know.**

 **Until next time,**

 **Vic**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended**

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

 **28 October 2011**

I'm all for mac-n-cheese that doesn't ooze all over the place, but when it sits on your plate in a solid lump, it's taking things a bit far.

Poking the lump with my fork, I tip it slightly to the side before letting it fall back. And nothing. Not even a jiggle. I wonder if I can eat this without breaking my teeth.

Although I suppose, when the alternative is 'Sloppy Joe Surprise,' a brick of pasta isn't so bad.

I put my fork down and reach for my milk. The flaps don't open right. Only the outer layer peels away, leaving it still glued shut. Dealing with this dilemma, I don't notice Jasper's approach until his tray is sliding onto the table. My head jerks up at the sound.

"Hey," he says, swinging his bag off his shoulder. "This seat's not taken, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, he settles into the chair opposite me, pulling his tray closer.

My mouth drops open. "Uh—"

"Man, this is a nice spot." He appraises the lunch room. "Great for people watching. I always see it when I come in, but then I sort of forget it's here." He turns back to me. "I like your thinking, Swan."

"Wh— I—"

"Hey," someone trills behind me. I realize it's Alice just before she comes into view, sweeping behind Jasper and sinking into the seat next to him. "Oh man, this table's great. Why haven't we sat here before?" She rests her hand on his shoulder as she looks around the room.

"I know, right? See, Bella knows where it's at."

"She sure does," Alice says, smiling at me. I should probably smile back. That's what normal people do. God, I'm so confused right now. "Hey, you haven't been at our house all week. How's it going?"

"It's… good. Busy."

Alice nods in response, but then, with a suddenness that takes me off guard, her eyes lights up, and she lets out a bubbly gasp. Leaning across the table, she taps my arm repeatedly. "Oh! Edward told me about your prom thing!"

I can only stare at her. "Pro—?"

"We should go together," she continues, waving a hand between us and then flapping it in Jasper's general direction. He looks amused. "It would be so much fun! You could get ready at our house, and we could go out for dinner before. I mean, I know it's ages away, but I'm so excited! I think I've found my dress already. Please don't judge me," she adds, finally stilling her hand long enough to grip my arm as her face goes from overexcited to slightly embarrassed.

"Uh…"

She goes from embarrassed to worried in the blink of an eye. Good lord, does she ever slow down? "Oh. Wait. Was Edward not supposed to tell us? Oh god, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, it— it's fine," I stutter, shaking my head. "You just talk really fast."

While Jasper bursts out laughing and Alice's shoulders slump in relief, I take a deep breath, level my eyes at her, and instruct, "What?"

She smiles. "I was just saying, now that you and Edward are — _probably_ — going to prom, we should go together. Double-date! Double the fun, you might say."

That's when it hits me that she's talking about prom, and dating, and me and Edward dating at prom, in front of Jasper.

I feel my eyes grow wide, and before I can stop myself, I'm staring back and forth between them, my stomach tangling itself into a solid ball. Jasper's only supposed to know Edward and I are friends, nothing more.

Probably seeing the mounting anxiety in my eyes, he leans over the table and quietly confides, "Don't be mad, but Alice told me about you and Edward a couple of weeks ago, so I already know about that. And Edward kind of mentioned it, too. I haven't told anyone, I promise."

I think I should probably be upset Jasper's in on the secret, but I have to admit, him already knowing is kind of a relief. It means I don't have to either tell him myself or be there when he's told, both of which sound like horrific scenarios I want to avoid anyway. Plus, he's nice, and a chess-club buddy. I actually don't mind at all.

I slowly sit back in my chair, regarding them. "Okay," I say carefully.

"You're not mad, right? About Alice being a blabber-mouth?"

"Shut up," she happily advises while I shake my head.

"No, I— No."

"You know, you're not very talkative. I like that," he says, picking up a carrot stick and pointing it at me. "I can't decide if you're a natural mystery, or just very succinct. Either way, it works for you."

"Thanks?"

He grins, taking a bite of his carrot.

This is very confusing. Still. This is still very confusing.

"So what do you think?" Alice asks, leaning toward me.

"About what?"

"Prom."

"Oh. Right. I mean… sure?" I don't want her to get her hopes up too much, just in case Edward and I don't end up going after all, but I can't deny her enthusiasm is actually kind of endearing. "That could be fun."

"Yay," she says, quietly clapping her hands. She leans in to Jasper and grins at him. "I will make you rue the day you said prom is stupid." She turns to me. "He said prom is stupid."

"I said it in a really loving way," he protests, looking down at her. "You know I like stupid things. Why do you think I hang out with you?"

She reaches down and pinches his leg. From the way he flinches away with a hissed curse, it was probably a bit harder than necessary.

"So, uhm… Not that this isn't nice," I interrupt, and they both turn back to me. "But why are you sitting here?"

I am very much used to spending lunch alone, and as much as I like Alice and Jasper, I don't think the rest of the school has a clear understanding of what is happening. Do people even know Jasper joined the chess club? Probably not — most of them don't even know we have a chess club.

"The reasons are threefold," Jasper says, cracking the cap on his orange juice. "The main reason is that we like hanging out with you. You're a very likeable person, you know."

This is of immense news to me.

"The second reason is that Edward's going to walk through those doors in a few minutes, and this'll make him very jealous, which is a lot of fun for me."

"That isn't one of my reasons," Alice interjects, smiling. Jasper waves her away.

"The third reason is that Rosalie made fun of my World of Warcraft chess set earlier, and I don't want to talk to her any more."

"Oh." I look towards the door. "I'm not so sure I like the Edward reason."

"He gives me a lot of shit for dating his sister. This is payback."

I consider him for a moment. He gives me a facial expression like ' _Am I right?'_. He probably is. "That seems fair."

"It is. Very fair."

"Well. Okay." Realizing I never got my milk open, I reach for the carton to finish the job. I don't really know what to say to them. I mean, I've hung out with Jasper a few times at chess club now, and Alice is super nice and doesn't seem to care that I'm an awkward mess, which makes her easy for me to hang out with, but it's never been just the three of us like this.

I look out over the room again. Has anyone noticed yet? A few tables over, Maria, Lucy, and Nettie sit with their heads close together, whispering. Lucy's eyes cut to me for less than a second.

My ears feel hot. I swallow, focusing solely on my milk.

"Hey, you okay?"

Alice is watching me, her gaze somehow heavier than usual. I smooth out my expression, only now realizing I was frowning.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, trying to smile reassuringly.

She doesn't look convinced, but Jasper laughs gleefully before she can ask anything else.

"Showtime," he says, grinning.

I turn to the door, watching as the basketball team, Rosalie, and her entourage make their way into the lunchroom. Edward's close to the back, pulling a beanie off his head. Lauren's at his side, as always, yammering away.

It could just be wishful thinking on my part, but when he smiles in response, it's tight-lipped, and more polite than genuine.

I didn't think he really believed me when I told him about Lauren's crush, but maybe it got through to him more than I'd realized.

"Okay, okay, come on, act natural."

"You're so mean," Alice laughs.

"I'm sticking to my previous argument that this is more than fair."

I force myself to look away from Edward. "So you're just using me for revenge?"

"Something like that."

"And here I'd like to remind you to speak for yourself. This revenge stuff is all on you, baby-doll," Alice says, pinching his ear.

"Careful, you might break something," he says, pulling her hand down while keeping his eyes on the lunch line. "Oh, Sloppy Joe Surprise? He's a brave man." He glances at me. "You might want to stay clear of him later. Something tells me his lunch is going to be exploding out of his a—"

"Jasper! Gross," Alice complains, slapping his arm. He's unperturbed.

"That goes for you, too, Alice. I mean, you share a bathroom with the guy."

"Can you not?"

"I could, but I don't want to."

I watch as Edward loads up his tray. He has training today, so he'll eat more than usual, although I suspect the double-pack of brownies he grabs isn't exactly on Coach's recommended meal-plan.

Rosalie is the first to head for their usual table, but she slows to a halt in the middle of the cafeteria and scans the room. I'm guessing the lack of an Alice and a Jasper has been noted.

When she finally spots them, she seems taken aback, more than anything. She blinks a couple of times, but it's not until she catches me watching her that her expressions hardens. Her eyebrows ease back into their natural state of condescension, and she turns her head away in such a clear dismissal I can't stop the heavy weight of shame sweeping across me for a second, trying to settle. I brush it away as best I can. She makes her way to her seat without looking back once.

Edward steps away from the line, not bothering to wait for Lauren who seems to be arguing with the lunch lady about something. He has a new habit of quickly glancing over at me when he walks across the room. He disguises it as a sweeping survey of the whole cafeteria, so I'm not surprised when he does just that.

But this time, his head volleys back to us so quickly I wonder if he'll have a crick in his neck. He stumbles slightly, staring at Jasper and Alice. From the corner of my eye, I see how Jasper raises his hand and flutters his fingers at him.

Edward blinks. I press my lips together to stop from smiling.

Jasper, on the other hand, laughs outright. "Look at his face. Oh man, this is much better than I thought it'd be."

Edward's mouth sets in a tight line. Barely glancing at his own table, he heads over. I can see that he's trying to look relaxed, but there's something a bit stilted in the way his legs move, like he's trying not to stomp his feet.

Coming to a sauntering stop in front of us, he smiles stiffly at Alice.

"What are you doing?"

She smiles back, the picture of innocence and sweetness. I can almost see the sarcasm dripping off her. "What does it look like we're doing?"

"Yeah, Edward, what _does_ it look like we're doing?" Jasper asks, leaning his chin on his closed fist.

Edward stares down at him, deadpan.

"We're just having lunch," Jasper says after a moment, clearly taking Edward's silence as a response.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Edward says, looking at him.

Jasper gives a one-shoulder shrug, seeming proud. "Consider it payback for bitching about me dating Alice."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I get to spend lunch with your girlfriend, and you don't."

Edward's jaw works. "Touché," he reluctantly mutters.

Meanwhile, I'm secretly freaking out at hearing someone else refer to me as Edward's girlfriend.

As if sensing my freaking, Edward's gaze flickers my way. But maybe he just thinks I'm freaking out because they're at my table; he looks disproportionately concerned.

"You okay?"

Someone just called me your girlfriend — I'm freaking fantastic. "Yup. All good."

"See? All good," Jasper says. "Now, if you don't mind, Bella and I have secret things to discuss — no Edwards allowed."

"Oh, come on."

"No, it's true," I say, and Jasper looks at me with pure delighted surprise. "Definitely no Edwards allowed."

Edward turns to me. His face holds nothing but deep betrayal. Still cute. "Et tu, Brute?"

"I didn't make the rules."

He tips his chin at Alice. "Why does she get to stay?"

"I'm not an Edward."

His mouth drops open for a second before he closes it again, adopting a grumpy expression. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does your face. Now go away," Jasper says.

"Dick," Edward mutters, glaring at him. Jasper only smirks, leaning back in his chair.

Edward shifts slightly on his feet before glancing at me. "I'll just leave you to your secrets, then."

"Great, thank you."

He lets out a long sigh. "Fine. I'll see you after school?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

We lock eyes for a brief second, and I want to grab his hand and pull him down next to me. Or pull him out of the room, out of the school, to somewhere we'll be alone. I just want to sit on his lap and make out and feel his hands all over me. Is that really too much to ask?

"Bye," he says, before turning and heading to the table across the room where his other friends sit. I watch him go. I can't help myself.

"Was it everything you thought it would be?" Alice's question makes me turn back. She's resting her arm across Jasper's shoulders, who smiles.

"Everything and more."

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

I send Edward a text to let him know I'm on my way before trekking through the woods. The wind is howling pretty bad, ripping at my jacket, even with the shelter from the trees. I hope it doesn't start to rain, too. I don't want to have to walk home in the middle of a storm.

Knocking on their kitchen door, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep warm. The temperatures have really been falling this week, making winter's imminent approach hard to miss.

Seconds pass, and the door doesn't open. Frowning, I knock again, trying to see some movement through the frosted glass. Edward's usually in the kitchen when he knows I'm coming over.

Chewing on my lip, I wait. I wish he'd hurry. The cold is seeping through my clothes, and my ears hurt. I tuck my shoulders up when another strong gust whips past me, pulling at my hair.

I have to knock two more times — and more like pound with my fist, really — before a shadow passes behind the glass.

"Finally," I say as he ushers me inside. "I was starting to think I'd gotten the wrong house."

"Yeah, sorry. I'm watching a great game," he says, eyes lit up with excitement. He can barely hold still.

I laugh. "Oh. You could've told me to come over later."

"No, it's okay, it's almost over, but do you mind if I watch it?"

"No, of course not." Please don't ask me to watch it, please don't ask me to wa—

"Alice is up in her room — she said she wanted to talk to you about something and to send you up when you got here."

"Oh? Uhm, okay."

He edges around me, reaching his hand out to grasp my arm. "Hi, by the way," he says, before leaning down to kiss me. It's quick and light, but his grin is warm.

"Hi."

With a squeeze to my arm, he hurries out of the kitchen.

After leaving my things by the front door, I hesitate at the stairs. I can hear the TV, the commentators talking faster and faster because something super exciting is doubtlessly happening. I wonder what Alice wants to talk to me about.

After climbing the stairs, simple deduction leads me to know which door is hers, and I knock. Unlike her brother, she opens it immediately.

"Oh, hey!" She's not wearing the same outfit she had on at school, having instead switched to yoga pants and a hoodie that looks about ten sizes too big for her. She's so short it basically reaches her knees.

"Hi. Edward said you wanted to talk to me?"

She smiles as she steps aside. "I do! Although I mostly just said it so he wouldn't make you watch the game with him."

Snorting, I step across the threshold. "Thanks."

Alice's room is pretty great. It's smaller than Edward's, but the bay-window makes it brighter and more open. Her books are organized by size on their shelves, the posters on her walls are all framed, and her curtains are tied back with sashes.

But at the same time, her books are all sci-fi and fantasy, her posters are about Harry Potter, and the digital photo-frame on her bedside table only has pictures of Jasper, and she's glued little pink hearts all around it.

It's very Alice. This might be the most adult teenage-room I've ever seen.

"I like your room," I tell her when the silence lasts way longer than I'm comfortable with.

"Thanks. Me too," she says, winking. "Here, sit down, have a pretzel," she continues, pushing me towards her bed and a bag towards my hands.

I do what she says. It seems easier that way.

"So," she says, clapping her hands together. "Tomorrow night. Jasper's party. I need your opinion."

"Okay. On what?" I ask, covering my mouth as I chew.

"Well, Jasper and I do this thing," she says while heading over to her closet. "We pick each other's costumes each year. He's been on a Tarantino binge lately, so he chose The Bride." Pulling out a yellow biker costume, she holds it up for me. "What do you think?"

I gape. "It's, uh… bloody."

"Pretty cool, right? I made it myself. I have a blonde wig too, but I can't decide if I'll wear it. It's pretty ugly. Do you think I can be The Bride without blonde hair?"

"To be honest, I think the yellow jumpsuit covered in blood does the job on its own."

"Yeah?"

"It's extremely convincing."

She grins, clutching her costume to her chest. "Okay. Yay! Maybe I'll just skip the wig, then. It makes my head itchy anyway, and like, who has time for that?"

"Right."

"Okay, well, that was easy," she says. "Thanks. What are you going as?"

I freeze with a pretzel halfway to my mouth. "Oh. I, uh, I don't know. I probably won't go anyway, so it's not, I mean…" I mumble, lowering the pretzel again.

"What?" Her arms droop as she stares at me. "You're not going? But you have to go."

"It's not a big deal. I don't really know anyone who's going, that's all."

"You know me. And Jasper. Edward, obviously. Angela's coming, isn't she?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "No, yeah, she's going."

Her eyebrows go up as far as they can go, and she just looks at me, waiting. Fuck.

"I don't… I don't like parties," I offer. I think she can tell it's not the most honest answer; her brow sinks back down again and with her mouth slightly twisted to the side, she puts her costume back in the wardrobe and then drops down on the bed, facing me.

"Why not?"

"The people, mostly," I sigh, angling the bag of pretzels her way. She digs her hand in and grabs a few.

"What's wrong with the people?"

"Everything?"

She rolls her eyes in the same good-natured way Edward does. "Okay, but seriously?"

"Seriously… I don't know. Crowds make me uncomfortable. I just can't see myself having a good time at the party, and then there's not really much reason to go. Plus, I don't think anyone's really going to miss me if I'm not there," I say, snorting slightly.

"Jasper wants you to come," she says immediately. "I want you to come. Doesn't Edward want you to?"

"Yeah, but he knows I don't…" Trailing off, I exhale. "We've talked about it."

She studies me for a moment. "I think you should go. Come and surprise him. I think he'd like that."

I know he'd like that. He'd probably love it.

I shake my head anyway. "I don't even have a costume, so it doesn't matter."

She grins. "You can borrow some of mine. I save all my old ones."

Crap. "I— They won't fit."

"Don't be silly, of course they will. We're the same size." She jumps off the bed before I can point out that we're definitely not. "Come on, we'll take bits from old ones and put them together into something new. It'll be great."

"Alice—"

She spins back around. "Please? At least do this. You don't have to go if you really don't want to, but please have a costume, just in case. What's the harm?"

I can't think of a single one. I'm trying _really_ hard, but I can't.

Her smile is as smug as it is victorious.

01000010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011

Edward walks me home after dinner. The wind is still howling, and the ground is wet from an earlier downpour. I push my hands further into my pockets.

I'd hoped we'd spend some time breaking their open-door rule, but the game he was watching went into overtime, and when it finally ended, his mom was already back from work. So instead, we hung out with Alice.

They talked about the party a lot, which was understandable. But Edward kept glancing at me, throwing me quick looks, as if he felt bad for talking about it in front of me, which made me feel bad for making him feel bad, and then feeling bad turned into feeling guilty.

And I do feel guilty. Even knowing Edward would love it if I went to the party, even knowing that Alice and Jasper actively want me there, I still can't see myself going. There are loads of reasons, but the main one is that I just don't want to put myself through it.

Putting my own comfort first is selfish, but that's not what I feel guilty about. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty about it, which is probably worse.

And it's not even a crippling guilt. Not even close. Just a nagging sense that I should be better than this.

If Edward notices my mood, he doesn't let on. We reach my porch under easy silence.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" I ask. He glances up, pausing on the stairs. "I was thinking we could go to Port Angeles, see a movie or something. If we go around lunch, you'll be back in time for Jasper's party."

If we spend _some_ time together in a public place, that'll balance things out, right?

He takes the final step up, shaking his head. "I can't. I promised Emmett we'd do a few hours of practice before helping Jasper set up for the party. Although you being the one to suggest we go to the movies is kind of making me want to ditch them," he says, grinning slyly at me.

I laugh, and shake my head. "No, come on. I just thought… Never mind."

"We can go on Sunday. I might be hungover, though, so I don't know if I'll be great company," he laughs.

"I should probably drive then, right?"

He chuckles and nods his head. "Definitely." He yawns, covering his mouth with his fist. He blinks slowly and sleepily. "Sorry. I'm so tired."

"I can tell."

He smiles. "Yeah, Coach was really riding us today. I'm going to bed as soon as I get home."

"Oh, you didn't have to walk me."

He's waving his hand before I've finished talking. "No, it's fine. I wanted to."

"Well, thanks. I would've gotten lost without you. So many turns and all that. And it's dark and stuff."

"Smartass," he mutters, smirking. He steps closer and puts his hand on my elbow. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says, bending down. His lips brush lightly against mine, lingering.

"Sunday," I say, almost against his lips. He pulls back a little to see me.

"What?"

"You won't see me tomorrow. You'll see me Sunday."

His face clears and he bumps his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Sorry, my brain's not working right. Yeah, Sunday, of course."

"Okay, well… Uhm, have fun. Tomorrow. At the party. You'll have to tell me all about it."

He smiles, and it's only because I know his face so well I can see he'd rather not have to. He'd rather I was there to see it all myself. But I'm selfish, and he knows that, so he just says, "I will. Goodnight."

"Night."

He kisses me one last time, a heavier, softer kind than before, the kind that makes me want to follow him back home, and then walks off the porch. I watch him cross our front lawn, hands back in his pockets and head down against the wind.

I head inside, leaving my bag by the foot of the stairs. Mom tells me she left some pie in the oven for me as I walk through the living room, and I grab a plate before taking it up to my room. I leave my bag downstairs. Alice made me promise to hang the costume up so it wouldn't wrinkle, but it's not like it matters. It's not like I'll be wearing it.

At least, I think I won't.

I hope I won't.

Ten minutes later I stomp down the stairs and grab the stupid bag.

* * *

 **You guys are seriously the best. I am so grateful you're still here, still reading, and hopefully still enjoying. Thank you.  
**

 **Until next time,**

 **Vic**


End file.
